


Lighten up, Kurapika

by RedC0der



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drugs Made Them Do It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8607001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedC0der/pseuds/RedC0der
Summary: Killua drags Kurapika to a party. He takes a strange drug from a strange dark man.The story unfolds of a dark past connecting them deeper than either could imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to be free. I want to wake up.

    There was a knot tight in his chest and the air around him smelled like electricity. He’d never been to one of these things before, but he’d heard all about them from his friends. He, of course, had no time for such frivolities as parties; he spent all of his time studying and being, for the most part, a hermit. And yet, here he was. Killua had finally managed to drag him out to one.

    They had had to stop at a liquor store on the way to buy some booze, seeing as they didn’t have any girls with them. According to Killua, that was the trade-off: either bring girls or booze or they might not let you in. Kurapika had heard this and almost immediately decided again not to go, thinking to himself at what a stupid rule that was. But Killua had twisted his arm.

    “Come onn, Pika. Gon is out of town and you  _never_  get to have any fun,” he had argued. He did make some good points- particularly the latter. He really  _didn_ ’t have any fun, and he’d been feeling restless lately, so he accepted Killua’s invitation despite knowing that he was second choice to the currently absent Gon.

    They walked up the cobblestone steps to a large house surrounded by a high wooden fence on all sides. They could hear laughter and loud music, as well as occasional yelling, coming from inside. Kurapika swallowed the lump inside of his throat. They approached the young-looking boy standing guard at the door, who glanced at the booze in their hands, nodded, and opened the door to motion them inside. “ _Well that was easy_!” Kurapika thought. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it was more than that at least. Almost immediately, any happy thoughts he was having were swept away by the loud blast of music pulsating in his ears combined with the smell of alcohol and something he couldn’t quite place hanging thick in the air. Kurapika didn’t even realize his face had scrunched up in distaste until Killua had grabbed his arm and smiled at him. “Come on, let’s find the kitchen and go make a drink.” He headed off, dragging Kurapika with him by the arm. Kurapika followed grudgingly and sighed.

    The kitchen was at least a little brighter than the entryway. There were people littered around on all sides- more people than Kurapika had been around all at once in months, and he felt the lump in his throat get a little bit bigger. What on earth did he have to talk about with these people? He eyed up a few nearby; scantily clad, both men and women alike, dressed in neon and crop tops, eyes bright and pupils dilated. Everybody seemed happy. Certainly not about to sit around and discuss the intricate matters of the universe.

    “Lighten  _up_ , Pika!” Kurapika hadn’t noticed Killua had been watching him. “Just relax, have a good time. Here,” he handed Kurapika a small glass full of the caramel-colored alcohol that they had brought in. Whiskey. He eyed it and Killua suspiciously. “I don’t know…” Killua punched his arm playfully. “You’ll drink it, or you’ll answer to me! And the next time I won’t go easy on you.” He smiled a big toothy smile, white-blond hair framing his bright blue eyes. It was hard to resist Killua’s charm. Kurapika felt himself soften. “Okay, just this once, Killua. But you owe me.” “I owe you nothing,” Killua joked in response, “well, there was that time you wrote that paper for me…and the time you saved me from the worst date of my life…ok, maybe I owe you a little.”

    He held up the shot glass, indicating to Kurapika to clink glasses together. Kurapika complied, and followed suit by drinking down the glass. He felt the cool liquid caress his throat, softening the lump there ever so slightly, then wracking his body with the momentary sensation of fire. Killua laughed at the expression on his face. “Good, huh?” “I wouldn’t call it that.” Kurapika responded, deadpan. He watched Killua pour two more, which they drank together, before being interrupted by some others in the kitchen who wanted to join in with their activities. Killua, ever the socialite, welcomed them gladly while Kurapika slipped off to try to find somewhere quieter to hide.

    He made his way through a large room that was dark save for the illumination of neon strobe lights in the ceiling. There was a fog misting around his body and he realized somebody had actually put  _fog machines_  in here. It was very disorienting, combined with the loud  _thump_  of the beat echoing inside of his head. The whiskey had loosened up his body despite his thoughts and he felt himself relaxing. But he was Kurapika, after all. He couldn’t just relax. He was terrified of losing control, of what it might mean. If he stopped to just enjoy this moment, didn’t that mean he was disregarding all the hundreds of other things he had to do? All the other things he had to think about? He had to get out of this room, just for a moment, find somewhere quiet to clear his mind. He found himself on the other side of the room somehow, following the hallway to a door that lead outside. Kurapika sighed in relief. The cool air would clear his thoughts.

    He opened the door and stepped outside, taking several deep breaths to steady himself. This was nice, actually. The air was soft and quiet and the whiskey was starting to make his blood feel warm from the inside. The outside was also much quieter than inside had been, in fact, there were only a few people scattered around at the moment. Kurapika spotted a plastic table set up some distance away with an orange cooler set on top, and red Solo cups stacked next to it. He decided to get himself a drink. Why not? Killua was right, he needed to try to enjoy himself, and for the past few weeks, _months_ even maybe, he’d been feeling discontented with his own life. He felt like something else was out there, and he wanted to experience it, but he had been too afraid. Who he thought he was, and his own past, was holding him back. Until tonight. He chugged the rest of the beverage, set the cup down on the table, and headed back inside. Screw it, he was going to loosen up. He was going to go and…dance!  
   

    “Is that Kurapika??” Killua spoke to another of his and Kurapika’s friends, a tall man with small sunglasses perched on his nose, watching the blond boy move around the dance floor with surprise grace and style. “Wow, he really knows how to move! Where has he been hiding these moves from us all this time?” The friend nodded and agreed. “Looks like you’re not the only one who noticed,” he grinned at a few girls around the dance floor who were eyeing up the dancing blond. “Good luck to them,” Killua smirked, “I’m pretty sure Kurapika only has eyes for his textbooks. Another shot?” The other friend, named Leorio, agreed, and they disappeared to the kitchen.

    Kurapika, who had noticed his two friends watching him and almost definitely talking about him, didn’t care. He was having too much fun at the moment, and it was a sweet relief for him. His hips were moving in time to the beat and he wasn’t thinking about anything else. He had a strong body; he did martial arts in his free time. He had always known how to move, it was almost instinctive for him. What had been missing was the lack of inhibition to move… _like this._ Guided now by the whiskey in his veins, his body moved without him. He almost didn’t have time to react when a tall, dark figure appeared closeby. He looked up, catching the man’s eye. He was smiling at Kurapika, and Kurapika found himself smiling back. The man took this as an invitation to come closer, close enough to be heard over the beat of the music. He leaned in to Kurapika’s ear, “I have something for you.”

    Kurapika didn’t know who this stranger was, or what he could possibly have. He was almost certainly drunk now, and compliant enough to agree with whatever this stranger was offering. He looked up quizzically at the man, who was smiling at him, dark features shadowy in the glow of the room. “Open your mouth,” he leaned in again to Kurapika’s neck. Kurapika felt every hair on his body stand on end from the way the man’s breath left his neck and the words lingered in his ear. He opened his mouth. The man placed something small on his tongue. “Let that dissolve,” the man instructed. Kurapika closed his mouth, nodded, and went back to dancing to the beat. He was fairly sure he had heard of this kind of thing happening before- drugs- at these kinds of parties, where people liked to dance with neon colors and heavy electric beats. He wasn’t entirely against the idea of drugs in principle- in fact, sometimes he even researched them out of curiosity- but he was surprised at his lack of desire to know exactly what drug had just been placed on his tongue. It really could have been anything. What was he thinking?

    The man was watching him and it made him uncomfortable. He had just given him drugs for free. Was he expecting something in return? The man saw his discerning expression and almost like reading his mind, came in close again: “don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything, except for the next dance.”  _The next dance?_  Was he crazy? He didn’t dance with boys…or so he thought? Then again, he’d never danced at all at a party before. Maybe it was ok. Maybe it didn’t have to mean anything. He was starting to feel very relaxed, and that scared him a little. The taller man took this as agreement, but sensed Kurapika’s fear nonetheless. “Don’t worry, no one can see us here.” He had breathed this into Kurapika’s neck, snaking his arms around the smaller man’s body. Kurapika looked around, realizing they had moved themselves into a dark corner where they were obscured by the stereo, amp, and speakers that were driving the beat. It was a DJ station, abandoned by any DJ currently, and the man was right: no one could see them. The taller man was already dancing with him. He had placed his hands on Kurapika’s hips and turned him around so he could grind his own hips into him from behind. Kurapika jumped, but did not pull away. Something else was guiding him now. Something that was not whiskey. Something that was not himself, but not  _not_  himself, either. He felt more shivers on his body as he felt the taller man’s pelvis press against him in rhythm to the music, finding himself responding in kind. The man’s hands had found themselves wandering all over his body; they were crawling up his chest, one had slipped under the front of his shirt, and was caressing the soft skin of his stomach. Kurapika thought that it felt better than anything he had ever felt before. Was this the drug? He could barely focus on anything else now, barely remember to move his hips, he was so caught up in the feel of the man’s fingers gently trailing over his skin.

    The beat temporarily subsided, and the man withdrew his hands, leaning forward to speak once more into Kurapika’s ear. “Thanks for the dance, blondie.” When Kurapika turned around, the man had receded back into the dark, fog-covered room.

    Kurapika was left with his thoughts. He’d never had a girlfriend before, this was true, but he didn’t consider that it was because he liked… _men_. Maybe this man had managed to cast a spell on him with his drugs. He shook his head, blonde hair like a halo about his face.  _“Get yourself together…magic spell? What are you even thinking?”_

    It was hard to stay pensive for long with that same electric energy he had detected earlier now flowing directly through his own veins. He found himself thinking about the sensations on his stomach again. He found himself moving in time to the beat again. He found himself wondering where Killua had gotten to, and if he was going to ever see that man again. He had made his way back to the center of the dance floor and closed his eyes, immersing himself back into the music. It was nice here. At least for the moment, he could let go. At least for the moment, he could be free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me who you are. Tell me about your everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to some wonderful fanart for this chapter left by a guest (uuugggggghhhhh on Tumblr)  
> http://uuugggggghhhhh.tumblr.com/post/155062515475/that-unrated-fanfic-on-ao3-about-a-mysterious-dank

    Kurapika swallowed. The air was humid; it clung to his skin and caused his blonde hair to stick to the sides of his forehead in a way that would have been appealing to anyone other than himself. It was the kind of humidity that was swallowed by rain clouds and foggy skies.

    He thought back to what the man had said to him that night. _“Come to the music building tomorrow night if you wish to see me again…follow the sounds of the moonlight.”_  He had been literally on his way out of the door, hanging off of Killua’s arm, laughter abounding, when the man had approached out of the darkness and gripped him tightly on his free shoulder and spoke- no,  _breathed_ \- the words into his ear, smile audible in his voice. Like he knew.  _Knew_  Kurapika would listen.

    “Who was that guy?” Killua had asked, trying to sound casual but faling as he stared down the stranger from the corner of his eye. “No idea,” Kurapika laughed, disbelief at the situation utterly taking over any semblance of rationality. He was running his hands up and down Killua’s arms and had never realized how soft Killua’s white-blond hair was until now. “You have amazingly soft hair.” Killua sighed. He clearly wasn’t going to get any answers tonight. “Come on, you. Let’s get you home.” He put one hand in the small of Kurapika’s back and with the other steady on his forearm, walked Kurapika home to his small apartment, where he lived alone, but fully intending to stay there overnight. Killua himself shared an apartment with Gon, but as Gon was out of town, and Kurapika was clearly not himself, he figured it the best course of action in the moment.

    And so it was. Tomorrow night had come. Kurapika had slept off the worst of his come-down and now found himself making the trek across campus in the dark, with the air foggy and close, constricting his breathing and forming a thin layer of unpleasant sweat on his skin. Though he had indeed slept most of the day, he was still feeling unwell. In fact, he had woken up today with the sense that all the happiness in the world had been sucked out and all the color turned to grey. Looking around him as he walked, that wasn’t far from accurate. Being Kurapika, he had done his research, discovering that he was feeling the after-effects of an ecstasy-induced thrill ride. He had silently cursed the dark man, but at the same time, had felt something small niggling inside his chest. He couldn’t help but feel like the whole ordeal was somewhat… _exciting_. He always played by the rules, but rather than from a sense of decency, he did it from a place of fear. He had always suspected that if he walked out of line, he would end up so far off course he would never come back. He had never been one for a middle ground.

    But that sense. That niggle. Last night hadn’t been the first time he had felt it. It was simply the time that broke the camel’s back, the time that drew him out of his shell and into the world. He _wanted_ to be exposed. He _wanted_ to be free.

    He had remembered, through neon flashes and the sounds of laughter in his mind, that Killua had briefly met the stranger as well during their last exchange. He would have to explain at some point- but not yet. Tonight, he was just going to see where his feet took him, and what he night had in store. He didn’t have to think much longer when he stepped up the arching sidepath to the music school. He had assumed the stranger had meant the  _practice_  building- the large bricked building surrounded by hedges containing hundreds of music rooms where students could come at all hours to practice, as long as they had a keycard. At least, he  _assumed_. The stranger spoke in complete riddles.  _“Follow the sounds of the moonlight.”_ _Why didn’t he just speak factually?_

    Kurapika held his keycard up to the reader and watched the little red light  _blip_  into green, indicating that he could now open the door. He entered and the low lights of the building grew brighter upon sensing the motion of his body. His anticipation clung to him as tightly as his sweat and the air, but he was resigned now. He was not going to turn back, and his fear was minute compared to the growing curiosity in his bones. The entrance hall contained a beautiful grand piano, haunting in its silence, which he passed to make his way up to the second floor by way of the sweeping staircase just behind. Kurapika was never one to shy away from walking when he had the chance. He only had his legs for so long- one day he would be too old to use them.

    The second floor contained the choral practice rooms. There were no instruments in these rooms. He wandered around briefly, wondering what the hell he was even looking for, but other than the sounds of a few straggling students practicing their  _allelujah’s_  nothing caught his ear. So he made his way to the third floor. This floor contained the piano practice rooms. It was a maze of hallways and sharp angles and the outside of the building was all glass-paneled windows that gave way to the city lights that lay below. It really was a stunning campus. As he wandered, pausing briefly to reflect over the view, he thought he heard the familiar tinkling tones of a song striking somewhere deep in his bones. A minor key, a haunting melody, each note drawing him closer and closer.

    _“Moonlight Sonata.”_  Kurapika’s heart had started beating faster involuntarily as he realized with a thrill that the stranger had not only referenced but was playing Beethoven’s beautiful composition with his own two hands, somewhere very close nearby. It was beautiful. Kurapika felt his soul engulfed in the melody, felt every sweeping  _forte_ , every solemn  _piano_. He stood outside the room he had pinpointed to be the one containing the piano-playing dark-haired man, breath rising and falling with the music, until the end of the first movement when the man briefly halted his playing. He heard the sound of a chair scraping against the concrete as the man had unseated himself and reached for the door, not giving Kurapika a chance to react as he swept it open, a smile creeping up onto his lips as he reacted at the sight of the young man perched beyond.

    “Ah, blondie. I was hoping it would be you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me take you out, wake you up, open you wide.

                "My name is Kurapika.” Kurapika spoke flirtatiously, without even realizing it. Was he actually _flirting?_ Who was he kidding…he was curious about the man, that’s why he was here…”Kurapika, I like that.” The man seemed to hold the name in his mouth, as if he was testing how the word felt. He smiled. He had a nice smile. “I’m Kuroro." He paused. "I'd shake your hand, but…” he trailed off, and Kurapika swallowed heavily, flashes of the night where this stranger- Kuroro- had pressed himself up against Kurapika and felt his body with his hands blazing like fire in his mind. He admitted that shaking his hand now felt rather… _impersonal._

                Instead, Kurapika smiled at him shyly, through his eyelashes. He was embarrassed at himself, but he couldn’t seem to help his reactions. It must be completely obvious, through his body language, that he had spent the last night reliving those moments over again in his mind. It was probably obvious that the scent of this man’s aftershave- or _something-_  was making him feel strange; giving his body tingles that he had previously thought were a myth. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He didn’t want to care about what it meant. He just wanted to enjoy it.

                 “Kurapika. Would you accompany me tonight? There’s a party, I’d like you to be my guest.” Kurapika had had an inkling that this would be the request of him tonight. He had showered, picked out an outfit that made his eyes shine with a tint of blue. He had spent an extra ten minutes pretending not to look in the mirror obsessively, wondering why he was spending so much time doing so, before leaving the house. Perhaps he was overthinking things. Perhaps this stranger was asking him as a friend. The man was coming closer towards him now, seeming to pick up on his hesitation, his temporary absorbance into his own mind. The atmosphere had changed, Kuroro’s body language had changed; he was grinning with a devilish look in his eye as he moved towards him.

                “I have something special planned for us, if you are interested.” His left hand lingered in his pocket, but his right pressed against the wall behind Kurapika’s head. He leaned in close, dark bangs grazing ever so slightly on the tender skin of Kurapika’s neck, and whispered "I’d never force you, but I’d be pleased if you came.” His breath lingered a few seconds longer than the sentence lasted before Kuroro withdrew his head. Kurapika’s body erupted in shivers again. “You have to give me more information than that. That’s not exactly a whole lot to go off of to make a decision.” He was half smiling, but half serious. If it was more drugs, he wanted to know exactly what Kuroro had planned. Again; he wasn’t against the idea, but this time, he wanted to have a little more foresight. After all, he even had this man’s name now.

                Kuroro smiled. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” Kurapika just stood there. What could he say to that? “I have molly.” Kurapika’s mind immediately started flipping through its repository of available knowledge. _Molly..._ “I gave you some last night. You probably feel a little worn out today. If you take some more, it will fix that. But like I said, I won’t pressure you. I never will.” He said this seriously. Kurapika understood that this was meant to form a bond of trust between them- or at least indicate that one was to come. “I see.” He nodded. This was not an acceptance, not just yet. But it was not a rejection. He _did_ feel worn out. But he was also happy, and very, very curious. It wasn’t even more so an emotion that he was curating or feeding. It was just… _there,_ and he was compelled follow it.

                “Where?” He asked. “Warehouse district.” “I can’t get in, I’m underage,” Kurapika countered. “You can get in. You’re with me.” Kuroro had flipped off the light switch to the small practice room, bathing himself and Kurapika in darkness. The lights from the city below twinkled behind them through the clear glass of the hallway, and Kurapika enjoyed the way the shadows danced across Kuroro’s face. He had very dark eyes, and at the moment they seemed lit from within. He felt the knot rise in his chest again as he remembered how the man’s face had looked, how he had felt that night with his arms engulfing his body. He admitted to himself that he wanted that feeling again.

                “I’m in.” His body straightened up and he looked defiantly at the dark man. “Excellent.” He had turned away and was walking down the hallway. “I’m very glad I met you, Kurapika.” Kurapika jumped after him, trotting a little to catch up. “I could say the same about you, but I rather feel it’s too early to tell.” The man exhaled sharply through his nose- either amusement, or the opposite, Kurapika couldn’t say. In fact, the man was rather hard to read entirely.

                “I’d like to take a cab there, if that’s ok with you. It’s about 10 minutes.” Kurapika nodded to the man, who had looked back at him to speak. “Yes, that sounds sensible.” The man laughed again, before turning forward.

                “So tell me about yourself, Kurapika.”

                 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make me feel you. I want to become what you are. I want to be part of you.

                 There were bright flashes in Kurapika’s mind. Stark white tiles. Being hot- too hot. The tiles were cold. Cold against the heat of his skin, burning into him with their energy, daring to be cool, so cool against him when he was so hot. So hot and so close and pressed up against them and _feeling_ them. The cool slickness giving way to the grittiness of the grout, the way it felt when the textures mixed against each other as he was pushed into them, his back bare, raw, exposed. Why was his back bare? He still had his shirt on, but it was being tugged, and – oh, _nails_ , those were _nails_ on his back, teeth on his neck, -why was he so hot?- there was a tongue slipping through the teeth, lips pressed on his skin, there was suction, he could feel the softness of it, the sound of it. He felt the way the tongue swirled against the skin as the blood rushed beneath, he could smell the hair, dark hair, soft hair. It smelled good, why was it so close?

                 Too close, maybe, maybe it was- _oh_ – there was pain, white hot, blinding, his head was being jolted- a fist in his hair, grasping tight, close to his skull, the pain was there and it was all Kurapika ever wanted and he wanted more. “Tell me, blondie-“ the man whispered, as he breathed, as he kissed, as he _attacked-_ “that you’ve been wanting me, dreaming of me-“ the lips danced up beneath his earlobe- “since the second we met.” He didn’t give Kurapika time to respond before grasping him firmly under the buttocks and lifting him onto the cold marble of the countertop. He spread Kurapika’s legs, pressing himself close against his body, feeling themselves touch, feeling the energy radiating from where they connected. He looked down into Kurapika’s face, reveling in the lust and the fear and the curiosity that his eyes gave away. Eyes that reflected the deep red of the bathroom lighting, almost glowing scarlet under the hue. “I want to hear it.”

                Kurapika looked back, not breaking the eye contact. “No.” He surprised the tall man, who couldn’t help himself but to smirk. “No?” “No,” repeated Kurapika, “I want you to _make_ me tell…” before his sentence had even come to completion, Kuroro had thrust himself against Kurapika’s groin, head angled down, hair falling into their faces, mind completely immersed in the sensations that he knew would drive Kurapika into madness, into- “ _unngh…”_ Kurapika let out a strangled groan, unaware he had even given his body permission to make that noise, face red with shame, as Kuroro thrust against him a second time, his smirk growing wider. “Tell me.” He gripped the back of Kurapika’s head, forcing it upwards towards his face, definitely not about to let Kurapika hide that delicious expression of embarrassment and pleasure underneath the blonde strands that he let dangle down. “Say it.” He pressed a third time, holding eye contact, and Kurapika felt the heat rise further, thought his body could not possibly get any hotter, thought he might pass out, thought he might throw up, thought he might scream, but instead his face unfurled into an expression of pure desire and his mouth fell gently open to let out a gasp. “I don’t-“ he couldn’t get the words out. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. But Kuroro was on him, on his lips, kissing the words, forcing him to feel the things he was thinking, forcing him to leave behind his emotions and feel only the tongue, the lips, the taste, it was _wrong_ , it shouldn’t be, and yet it was.

                Kurapika’s body was working without him. It was telling him that he wanted the man. He wanted everything about him, he wanted all of him, he wanted to _experience_ him. But he felt wrong, he felt heavy, his mind was on fire, he was too hot. He broke away from the kiss. “I’m sorry…” he muttered and he pushed the man off. “I don’t…I don’t know why I’m….” he shook his head, all the feelings were suddenly too strong, it was too much alcohol, it was not sitting right with the drugs and he was going to…

                He ran to a stall, and he threw up.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to be me, but I don't know who I am.

               It wasn’t until around six at night that Kurapika finally felt good enough to get out of bed. He walked quietly across the already-dark apartment and slid open the clear glass door to the porch to let the fresh air clear his mind. He didn’t want to wake Killua; he lived alone, but Killua had crashed on his couch, presumably to make sure he did not choke on his own vomit while he slept. He was lucky. Lucky that Killua actually had a social life and happened to be at the very party he was at. Lucky Killua made sure he got home safe and stopped him from making an even bigger fool of himself than he already felt. Mixing that much alcohol and drugs together in such a short amount of time was flirting with disaster.

               Despite the cool air, he couldn't shake his thoughts, nor his hangover. He’d never met anyone that made him feel the way Kuroro did. He never knew…never knew he had that side to himself. But also, deep down inside, he knew that he was skirting with danger. Of his own making, perhaps; maybe what he really wished was to understand himself better. He was like Alice diving down the rabbit hole, and Kuroro was the white rabbit, leading him to places he had to understand for fear of what the unknown might bring should he stay behind. He had to trust himself not to go so far he could not turn back. And yet, he knew he must follow. There was no other choice.

                A light flicked on in the darkness inside and Kurapika watched a groggy silhouette emerge from its napping position on the couch, white-blonde hair like a deranged halo around its head. Kurapika couldn’t help but smile despite himself. Killua was shirtless, wearing only his shorts from last night. He joined Kurapika on the porch. “I'm glad you're up and alive and all, but fuck, it’s cold, man! Come inside,” he complained.

                Kurapika smiled, amused as always with friend’s ever charming demeanor.

                “I like it. It clears my head.” He turned his gaze back towards the trees. Killua stood quietly, his free arm rubbing himself across the chest as if grasping for protection against the cool night air. “Yeah, I can imagine you need a little bit of that right now.”

                It was the first acknowledgement Killua had made of Kurapika’s adventures, even if it was simply a nudge to their existence. Kurapika felt no judgement there, Killua was just observing. He sighed heavily, "I do.” There was more silence between them. “I saw you with that guy again," Killua started, awkwardly. "It's...it’s ok, you know.” Kurapika was silent, not moving his gaze. He didn’t turn his head until a few minutes had passed, and by then, all he caught was Killua’s back as he headed inside.

               Kurapika had never been more grateful for their friendship.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a monster inside of me. There's a beast who wants to howl. I'm not going to stop him anymore.

                Kurapika had not had the easiest life. He had a pleasant childhood, of course. And that could never be taken away from him. But he had been the victim of a very unfortunate series of events as a young adult that had changed him entirely. 

                As a young man, no older than seventeen, he had left the house- couldn’t have been for longer than an hour- to run a simple errand for the family. In the short time he was away, his parents had both been the victim of a brutal group of home invaders that had been targeting wealthier neighborhoods. His parents were not weak people. His father ran a martial arts school. They had taught him how to fight, how to stand up for himself, and practiced the things that they preached. They had defended themselves, unlike many others that had come before them, and managed to injure their offenders. But it wasn’t enough. They were killed.

                Kurapika had returned home. He saw everything. The house- empty. The window- cracked where they had broken the glass to enter. Blood, splattered on the walls of the kitchen, on the floor, glittering in the fluorescence, daring him to think it was beautiful. Eyes wide, trembling, he followed the trail of blood to the bodies, which would remain forever frozen in his mind, encapsulated like diamond before it is cut into something beautiful. He’d never forget.

                And he never wanted to. He had been nearing his eighteenth birthday, and had no surviving relatives in this country. He had received life insurance on both his parents- a very nice sum, which he had put away, and put into investments. The court allowed him to live with the family of his closest friend until his eighteenth birthday, after which he moved out of state to the college he now attended. He wanted a fresh start- he wanted friends that didn’t know his history, didn’t see him as “the murder kid,” hadn’t seen his story and his face plastered all over the news. He wanted to put his head down, keep going, and fight for the things he believed in. He would keep going until he felt that he had done his parents justice. He didn’t know how, or what that was going to take, but he would keep going until he found it.

                He wasn’t studying criminal law so that he could become a moral and just perpetuator of the quiet order of things. No. He wanted to learn the system. He wanted to know what the loopholes were. He wanted to know- really  _know-_ what the law was and how it worked, and how the minds of those who exploited it worked from the outside looking in- from the  _inside looking out_. He wanted to get as close to it as possible, step inside the eye of the storm to feel the calm from within. It was the only way to fight. “To overcome a monster, one must abandon their own humanity.”

 

                It was why he’d stayed out of the limelight. Why he’d kept his head down. Why he didn’t want to break the rules, break the twilight, break the calm. But he couldn’t keep it down anymore. The turmoil within him had grown too strong. The caverns too deep to remain unexplored. Each pathway he illuminated led him closer to the truth. And he’d keep going until he found it.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika's back at Warehouse. Kuroro has more drugs. But Kurapika's starting to want more, so they finally talk a little. But not much. Just a little.

 

 

                He was wet. The air was cold. He was shivering through his shirt. He was standing outside Warehouse, he had walked. It was a Tuesday night but he went anyway. He didn’t know what he was hoping to find…but yes. He did know. He was going to find someone tall and handsome, and completely inscrutable. Someone who only wore dark jeans, someone who smelled fresh and musky at the same time, like stale cigarettes and coffee and like raw denim and old books and aftershave, and like man and like desire.

                It was raining, and he hadn’t worn an undershirt. His hair was sticking to his face.

                Kuroro was standing outside. Out the back entrance, like he had said. He was wet as well, but somehow, looked dry. Kurapika’s heart started beating in his chest- he had never been so aware of it. He had found himself back here, looking at him, walking towards him, choosing his own fate. He had that feeling again; the feeling that his life had led him here, but it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be that everything he’d worked towards had led him here, with this man. That just didn’t make any sense.

                The man was smirking. “Wet looks good on you.”

                “You should talk.” Kurapika immediately shot back. Despite his pounding heart, he felt completely at ease, like his body responded without him. The man had his hands low in his pockets, back leaning against the wall, white button-up clinging to his chest in ways that made Kurapika swallow and his eyes linger for a second too long. His sleeves were rolled up to the forearm, and it suited him. The man smirked again.

                “I can’t stay out too late tonight.” Kurapika was serious this time. “It’s Tuesday. I have class tomorrow.”

                “Come on now, would I ever steer you wrong, blondie?”

                “My name is Kurapika.” He was smiling now. Kuroro only smiled to himself, walking ahead of him, knocking gently on the back door. They went through the rigmarole of entering the building, though it felt less formal tonight. Perhaps because it was only a Tuesday. As they entered, Kurapika felt the atmosphere; it was not quite as heavy as it was over the weekend, but it was still alive, still thriving, bright, dark, the air around him beating like his own heart.

                Kuroro leaned back to mention, “there’s a DJ tonight, someone I’m quite close with. I hope you’ll enjoy him, I’d like you to meet him later, though I’d like to show you around the building first.”

                Kurapika was curious. He wanted him to meet his friend? But wait, around the building…what else was there?

                He followed Kuroro to a room that was an offshoot of the dancefloor, a room that felt more like a hotel lounge. There was a separate bar back here, as well as several couches and loveseats in bright colors scattered around in comfortable formations. Kuroro sat down at the bar, then gestured to Kurapika to join him on the stool to his right. The bartender glanced at them before giving his full attention, recognition on his face. Kurapika wondered, not for the first time, what Kuroro’s relation to this place was. He seemed very familiar with everyone here.

                “I’d like two shots of tequila…a whiskey neat, and whatever Kurapika here would like.” He smiled, raising an eyebrow at the blonde sitting tentatively at his side.

                He looked down at the clear glass, clear liquid, salt rimmed and the lime in Kuroro’s fingers. He followed his glance upwards, tracing up the man’s arm, his broad chest, settling on his face, examining the dark eyes that were examining him back. The man winked at him. It took him off guard, it was so perfectly executed, and yet completely unexpected. His face immediately scrunched up in what he felt was a smile, but was composed of half embarrassment and half immediate lust. He hoped it didn’t look as silly as he felt. But he’d never been looked at like _that_ before…

                He cleared his throat. “Are we going to take these or what?”

                Kuroro raised his glass, holding eye contact all the while. “Please.” They both clinked, licking the salt from the rims, Kurapika’s eyes meeting Kuroro’s as his tongue was skirting the rim. His mind immediately flashed to dirty places as he broke eye contact to pour the fluid down his throat, swallowing with force, feeling the immediate shiver up his body as the alcohol invaded his nervous system, simultaneously clearing his mind.

                “You keep inviting me here.” Kurapika set the glass down on the bar with a _clink._ He shivered a second time from the after effects of the tequila.

                “I like it here.” Kuroro said simply. It was clear he wasn’t getting any more out of the conversation. This man was maddening. Did he _ever_ reveal anything about himself?

                “I don’t know anything about you.”

                “What do you want to know?”

                Kurapika thought for a moment, stirring his gin and tonic.

                “I want you to tell me something you think I might like to know.”

                Kuroro sat silent for a moment. “Hmm. Well, I’ve already graduated, for one.”

                Kurapika knew he was only giving him clues. He wondered- for the _first_ time- how old this man was. “Already graduated?”

                “That’s all you get for now, blondie. But I _will_ get you another drink.”

                “That’s another thing. Will you ever let me actually pay…” two more tequila shots appeared in front of them on the counter. Kurapika swallowed back the nausea he was feeling just looking at them, before surrendering to the even greater temptation that immediately followed. He could handle this, he could stand to loosen up a little.

                He smiled, the liquid burning down his throat like nectar, like something so sweet it hurt. He caught a glance at Kuroro, a brief moment in time when he looked disheveled, his hair tousled from the way he had tossed back his head to drink. A blink, and he had righted himself, cocking his head just so, so the hair fell back into place. Kurapika felt something stir inside him. It had been building now, for almost a week. He didn’t know what it was, and it scared him, because it almost hurt, it was so strong. And it was new. New to him.

                He was almost frustrated. Here he was again, but had anything changed? Would they make out again, kissing in the bathroom? Would he let himself…let himself be _played with?_

                Kuroro whispered in his ear. “I have something else for you tonight, if you’re interested.”

                Kurapika rolled his eyes, but playfully. “Let me guess. More drugs?”

                Kuroro smiled.

                “You know, I’ve done more drugs since I’ve met you than I ever have in my life.”

                “That was your choice.”

                He couldn’t argue with that. And he would consent tonight as well.

                There was no one else around. Kuroro signaled the bartender, and he shut the door to the room, leaving only the three of them. Kuroro laid out a fine white powder into small lines onto the bar countertop. Kurapika knew what it was just by looking.

                “Of course, you are free to choose whatever path you wish,” Kuroro smiled, knowing fully what Kurapika was going to choose.

                “This is illegal you know,” Kurapika smiled, following Kuroro’s lead, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply through the other. He felt a small tingle, and then an immediate rush, having to cough to clear his head. They continued for a few more before it was gone.

                 The noise outside of the room had increased, as Kurapika had gotten there relatively early, and the night had started to pick up. He had had no idea this is what he had been missing out on, spending nights in his room studying or going to bed early while his classmates were all out.

                He didn’t care about any of that, though. He only wanted to spend more time with Kuroro. If this is where Kuroro was, this is where he was. He was wrong. He trusted him, here, in this moment. And he’d always been curious about the things he was being offered. And suddenly, he was more curious about how the things he was being offered could be tools to exploring himself and his own feelings.

                Like the way he felt brave right now. He didn’t want to dance, or spend all night waiting for Kuroro to make the first move, or drag him to the bathroom. He didn’t want to-

                Kuroro was staring at him. His clothes and hair had dried, and he looked just as perfect as Kurapika assumed he had before. Not a hair out of place. “You’re cute, did you know that?”

                “Are you going to take me to the bathroom?” He joked.

                “I’m going to take you right here if you’re not careful.”

                “I dare you.” Kurapika was the one smirking now. He couldn’t believe how brave he felt. Is this cocaine?

                “Easy, blondie. You look at me like that and I won’t hold myself back.”  

                “I want to know more about you.”

                Kuroro’s eyes were glinting in the low lighting of the room. “This isn’t enough?”

                “If you’re not going to tell me anything, then let me guess. And if I’m close, you drink. If I’m wrong, I drink.”

                Kuroro paused, then smiled, obviously in acceptance. “And when you’re nice and drunk I can take advantage of you.” He winked again. Kurapika felt that uneasy feeling of the bottom dropping out of his stomach as he following Kuroro back to the bar…conspicuously _not_ looking at his well-defined back, and the lines of his tattoo peeking out from underneath the white collar. Damn, he looked nice.

                He already knew what his first guess was going to be.  

                “Ok, I guess that you’re… 23.”

                Kuroro smiled. “Drink.”

                _Older_ than 23?

                “I guess it’s only fair that I play too, hmm? So let’s see…my guess is that underneath your sensible demeanor, lies a dark beast that’s been waiting to be awakened.”

                Kurapika was taken aback by this guess. He wasn’t even sure what to make of it, but Kuroro wasn’t…wrong? “Yes…I suppose you’re right. I’ve never been above temptation…I’ve just never been faced with any temptations that, well, tempted me.”

                “Hmm. But it’s more than that. You were quick to trust me, and you know very little about me. You fly with reckless abandon. And listen to your impulses.”

                How did this man know so much about him from so little time together? He guessed it was clear from his actions, even if that’s not how he would have defined himself. So, he drank. Kuroro was right. He was impulsive, and he was giving in to temptation. But he liked it.

                “Ok. My turn. If you’re older than 23, and you’ve already graduated, I’m going to take a wild guess here and say that you have more than one degree. A Masters maybe?”

                Kuroro smiled, genuinely, and Kurapika noticed the fine lines that crinkled up around his eyes. It made his heart flutter.

                “That’s one right, blondie. But don’t start feeling lucky.” He sipped from his whiskey as retribution for his loss.

                “-and I’m guessing it’s something in the…liberal arts. Fine arts maybe. You play beautifully, so maybe music? Or.. history, or literature. Am I close?”

                “Ah, but it’s my guess now, isn’t it?” Kurapika conceded that it was. “I am guessing that you’ve been thinking about what it’s like to be with me since we met.”

                Kurapika had no idea how to respond to this. But Kuroro wasn’t finished.

                “Judging by your blush, I’m obviously correct. So drink.” Kurapika did. “Would you like to know?” He smiled, and Kurapika detected a facetious tone that he hadn’t heard before in his voice.

                “All you do is play games, isn’t it?” Kurapika was emboldened by the many drinks from his losses. But to his surprise, Kuroro took another sip.

                “That’s the most right you’ve been all night.”

                They sipped in silence for a moment, before Kurapika spoke up again. “I have one more guess.” Kuroro’s expression signaled that he was listening. “What’s your connection to this place?”

                Kuroro raised an eyebrow. “Ah, but that’s not a guess, is it?” He set down his empty glass and stood up. He stood several heads above Kurapika, and at this angle, he was level to Kuroro’s chest. The button down he was wearing was unbuttoned at the top, and he could see faint traces of Kuroro’s collarbones peeking out from the sides. His forearms were well defined underneath the rolled up sleeves, and he was close enough that Kurapika could smell the fabric softener of his shirt, or perhaps it was his aftershave. It was _him_ , his scent. Whatever it was, he wanted…he wanted more of it. To be closer to it. He stood up, feeling content at the small amount of information he had practically pried from the man. It was, frankly, more than he was expecting.

                He could feel the energy radiating off of their bodies now, and yet somehow Kuroro was never less than perfectly stoic. Every piece of him was defined, filled perfectly under his clothes. Every hair sitting perfectly where it was meant to be without looking like it was placed there. Even his turquoise earring, occasionally glinting from behind his hair, looked like it just… _belonged._

                Kurapika felt heavy, because he wanted to attack him but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to take himself from where they were, to where he wanted to be. But he didn’t want to spend all night on the dance floor figuring it out, either. He wanted to tear into him.

                And he wanted it to start with unbuttoning that shirt.  

                “I’m offended, you know.” Kurapika snapped back to reality, unaware that he had been staring. “I’m not a piece of meat.”

                Kurapika blushed.

                “God, is that sexy when you do that.” Kuroro was advancing on him now, he had nowhere else to go, his back was pressed up against the bar, it hurt where it pressed but he could barely feel it.

                “Is that all I am to you…” Kuroro stood against him, body pressed flat, running his hands down Kurapika’s shoulders, down his arms….”just a piece of meat?” aware at the irony of his own words, he had bitten gently at the skin on Kurapika’s neck, just hard enough to feel corporeal, to feel the twinge of pain, to know there would be teeth marks there tomorrow. The blood was rushing through Kurapika’s body now, faster, hotter. He didn’t care if they were exposed, without the cover of the dance floor. In fact, the thought excited him. And yet, he froze- he couldn’t respond, couldn’t push back. What could he do? He wanted to…

                Kuroro released him. “Oh,” Kuroro smiled, “you are _so_ fun to play with. I am going to enjoy you.”

               


	8. Chapter 8

                Killua’s phone buzzed. _“Hey, isn’t this the guy we saw with Kurapika?”_

                It was from Leorio. Killua opened the link in the text message and felt his eyes widen as he read the headline.            

                _Local Mob Boss Suspected in Drug Trafficking Ring_

There was a picture underneath. A picture of a calm-faced, incredibly handsome dark-haired man with turquoise earrings peeking out from beneath his long bangs.  

               

* * *

 

                Kurapika didn’t know about any of that. He was busy, too busy being entangled in this man’s snare. Maybe he didn’t know that, because it didn’t feel like a snare; it felt like a warm bed, like a glass of water on a hot day, like the little shock you get when you rub a blanket and then touch something metal. It felt like the cold winds against the parts of your face your hood can’t cover early in the morning in the wintertime. It felt _good,_ it felt strange, it felt real, and it felt _alive._

                But it was a snare, and he didn’t know that.

                If he did know that, would he even care?

                _“Please…more…”_

                He could only mumble this into the wall his face was currently pressed up against. One arm was being twisted behind his back, the other gripped tightly by the wrist above his head, pressed as hard into the wall as his pelvis was by the warm body behind him.

                _“MMph…please…”_ his face felt tension, slight pain, as the body behind him _bumped_ hard into him, forcing his face to press even harder into the rough wood.

                He didn’t know exactly where they were. But he vaguely remembered from the layout of the place that they were in the back end, close to the rear entrance to which Kuroro constantly used to bring him through. No one else was around, and the area around them looked more like an industrial storage area than a club, full of wooden slats, beams, poles and boxes. The wall he was pressed up against was composed entirely of these wooden slats. He could feel every splinter.

                Kuroro had released the hand above his head in order to lift up his shirt. With a shock and a grimace Kurapika felt one of his nipples being squeezed- _hard._ The hand tightened its grip on the arm behind his back as he reacted; he could tell Kuroro was pleased. “Did that hurt, blondie?” Kuroro’s bangs tickled his neck as he felt the words growled into his ear, before the skin on his neck was accosted with teeth.

                With the release of his nipple he felt the hand trailing down, before settling on his shorts. Kurapika’s breath hitched in his throat- is he going to take them off?- a momentary freeze of fear before realizing this was _real,_ for the first time he might actually be _exposed,-_ the hand released the button and he felt the gentle slide of the zipper being undone.

                Kurapika’s eyelids fluttered shut and he felt himself moan from pure arousal, despite the mad beating of his heart. He felt the hand grip even tighter on his twisted arm. He knew he’d have a bruise there tomorrow.

                Kuroro pulled his body closer so that they were pressed tight against each other. “That’s it, blondie. You just stand there and take it.” His hand slipped underneath his waistband, but over the cotton of his boxerbriefs. He was fully aroused. He had been for a while.

                He moaned when he felt Kuroro encompass him with his palm. He felt himself flush even harder when he realized how embarrassed he was by his own reactions, and how he felt Kuroro’s breathing speed up in reaction to his body, how much he enjoyed turning him on, how much he liked to _play_ with him and _ohhh_ he was under the cotton now, Kurapika shivered with the full contact of skin on skin. What was he going to do next?

His eyes were firmly shut now as he enjoyed the sensation of pleasure, pleasure being delivered in a dark handsome package.

 

* * *

 

 

                _“A local cub owner has been recently identified as the prime suspect in a drug trafficking ring in the city of Seattle, Washington. The city, with several of its smaller districts being renovated and having become well-known for the underground nightlife scene, has become flush with common “party” drugs such as cocaine, amphetamine, speed and ecstasy. Though he has not been convicted, owner of club Warehouse Kuroro “Chrollo” Lucilfer, a man with suspected ties to the mafia, has been named several times as the ringleader by unknown sources. Police are currently investigating, but no evidence has been found. If you have any information regarding this case, please call Seattle PD.”_

* * *

 

Kurapika came, hard, into Kuroro’s hand. He couldn’t help himself. It didn’t take much for him- not yet, at least, until he gained a little more experience. But Kuroro didn’t mind. He smiled, eyes dark and invisible behind the dangling strands of his hair. He leaned in, mouth brushing gently against the back of Kurapika’s neck to plant a soft kiss there.

                “Don’t worry, with a little training we’ll have you on your knees, begging for me to keep fucking you until you can’t take anymore.” His voice was dripping with…it wasn’t pure lust, was it? It was more like…something dark. Like he was reveling in it; like the mere thought of it empowered him.

                Kurapika shivered, body spent. He turned to face the man, zipping his pants, buttoning them, rubbing his hand over the red marks on his arm. All he wanted now was to put his arms around him and be held, to smell him, to feel him, to soak in that power and have it protect him.

                But it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Kuroro had already turned away, a half smile still playing at the corners of his lips.

                Kurapika couldn’t do anything else but follow him.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dem mob bosses don't eff around.
> 
> Plot happens.
> 
> Sorry if you were hoping for a nice Kuroro.

                Killua was not going to tell Kurapika. Not yet. It was not his style, and what could he even say? “ _Hey Kurapika, your almost-boyfriend who_ might _have connections to the mob_ might _be running a drug ring”?_

No. He would stay silent, and collect more information. His own way.

 

* * *

 

 

                Kurapika’s fingers trailed over the cold marble countertop. It was white marble. Absolutely beautiful, just like the rest of Kuroro’s sky rise apartment. He turned the tap to wash his hands, examining his reflection in the mirror. His blonde hair was sitting nicely, framing his face the way he liked. He was wearing the darkest jeans he owned, and paired them with a leather jacket he had borrowed from Killua. He appreciated the way the low lighting in the bathroom made his skin look nice- almost glowing. He was satisfied. Time to leave.

                He walked back to the lounge, stopping momentarily because he could hear Kuroro finishing a phone call.

                “No, Nobu. Not tonight. Yes, it’s that ‘ _that kid again.’_ It’s important. You know that. You’ll just have to be patient and- oh, hey, blondie.”  

                “ _That kid again?”_ Was that him? Who was Nobu?

                Noting the questions in Kurapika’s eyes, Kuroro ended his conversation. Somehow, he still managed to be suave; he didn’t appear flustered at all having been overheard.

                “Oh, don’t mind him,” he winked. “I don’t normally give away my Saturday nights, you see. Everyone wants a piece of me these days.” He started walking to the kitchen, so Kurapika could only faintly make out the next line. “Let’s make you a cocktail, shall we?”

                He started pulling down stainless steel accessories, making loud noises and mumbling things out loud like “ _where’s the grenadine”_ and “ _housekeeper never leaves things where I put them.”_ Kurapika wandered over to the window.

                It was nighttime, and the landscape was alive. Kuroro was obviously _very_ wealthy, because he had a top floor apartment directly in the heart of the hottest district in the city. The windows spanned the entirety of one wall, from floor to ceiling, and the view was, well…Kurapika almost forgot how to breathe, standing there, basking in the lights. He loved the city. It was the only place he could truly be _alone_ while being surrounded by people. People living their own lives. People down below, in the skyline, in the nightlife, in their own apartments, in their own windows.

                It was a moment before he realized Kuroro was standing next to him, gaze fixed in the direction of the city below, a tall glass held captive in each of his broad hands.  “It’s really something, isn’t it,” he breathed, in a low voice. “I’ve loved the city ever since I was a child. I was never able to afford anything like this, of course. No, not then; not where I grew up. But I love it. The city is the one place you can’t escape human nature because it’s all around you. You’re forced to see it. See people for who they really are.”

                It was the first time Kurapka thought he might have heard genuine emotion in Kuroro’s voice. Kuroro’s eyes snapped up, landing on Kurapika’s. They seemed to clear, and he smiled, raising a glass in offering. “Here. It’s an elderflower gin and tonic. You’ll like it, I promise.” The drink was clear and carbonated with a slice of cucumber floating amongst the ice. Perfectly presented, just like him.

                Kurapika sipped it. It tasted like luxury.

                They stood there for another moment, appreciating their cocktails, enchanted by the skyline, the moon from above casting an ethereal glow onto their faces. Kurapika silently watched Kuroro, engrossed by how beautiful his face was in the moonlight. He thought he might never experience a moment as nice as this again.

                “Well, we’re not here to stand around all day, are we?” Kuroro smiled again.

                He wasn’t sure _why_ he was there, actually. Kuroro had invited him over, talking about cooking dinner, maybe going out afterwards. It felt almost like…like a _date._

“Hmm. That may or may not be true, considering how vague you have been with my invitation.” Kurapika managed to deliver this with a straight face, as he was capable of being entirely facetious yet completely straight-laced.

                Kuroro cocked an eyebrow. “Why, it’s a date of course. I’m making you dinner. Then, I’m making you mine.” Kurapika’s heart stopped. Did he really just say that?

                He gulped, suddenly very interested in the last sip of his drink. “Oh, but you are so fun to tease,” Kuroro was practically laughing now, spying Kurapika’s empty drink and leading them back to the kitchen.

                Kurapika was feeling a little more relaxed after the cocktail. He followed Kuroro, but decided at the last minute to remove his jacket (it had gotten a little warm) and examine the books in Kuroro’s bookshelf.

                “ _Deadly Force- Understanding your Right to Self Defense”_

_“Failure of Justice: A Brutal Murder, an Obsessed Cop, Six Wrongful Convictions”_

_“On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society”_

“Hey, I recognize these titles. These are criminal law books, aren’t they? Both my parents were prosecutors, you know, and I happen to be studying criminal law myself. Well, my father quit to run his dojo. Couldn’t take the stress anymore. He had a case one day that…” he trailed off. He didn’t mean to bring that up. He didn’t want to talk about it.

                “Oh? Indeed.” Kuroro paused, noting Kurapikia’s hesitance to continue. “I have quite the interest myself. I’d like to hear that story about your father one day, if the time is right.”

                 Kurapika mustered a smile, and nodded, eyeing up the finished cocktail in Kuroro’s hand.

                “This one’s all yours, kid.” He handed it to Kurapika. “I’m going to get started cooking. Please make yourself comfortable. I want you as comfortable as you can get.”         

             

* * *

 

               

 _“Get comfy, blondie. Keep melting. Then you’re going tell me. You’re going to tell me all about the time your parents took down my comrades. Good people. Good people I’ll never see again, because of what your parents did. Oh, I know all about what happened. I know why your father quit prosecuting. I know_ exactly _who you are. When I saw your face in that club I couldn’t believe my luck. My team well, they do their best, but when they are sent out on a hit sometimes they get unlucky. Can’t pick up all the pieces. Sometimes they leave behind messes. But I finally get to clean this one up. I wanted you all to myself and boy, isn’t it fun. Just my luck, so handsome too. And pure!_ _What an utter delight you are._ _I’m going to desecrate your body while you worship at mine. I’m going to achieve ultimate power in your eyes. And then…then I’m going to kill you.”_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, now comes the sex.
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warning: choking

That _tongue…_ it was red-hot, swirling in his mouth, deep inside of him, tasting of gin and elderflower and _him_. Kuroro was on top of him, had pushed him backwards onto the bed. His mouth was hungry, kissing deeper, harder. Kurapika couldn’t feel anything but their tongues dancing together in a seductive ballet that set his groin on fire. He was already rock hard. He collapsed backwards under Kuroro’s weight, the scent of him filling him up, a whiff of his deodorant, his cologne- his _skin,_ and Kurapika had never smelled anything better.

                Kuroro’s hands were wandering, pressing him down, one hand reaching for the button on his jeans. Kurapika let it happen, he was ready, he was tipsy, he _wanted this,_ moaning up into Kuroro’s open mouth, only receiving a deeper tongue in response. The zipper was coming down, Kuroro’s body was heavy on top of him, every inch of him was on fire, all he could see was dark hair and white t-shirt and oh _god_ he’s taking off his shirt, he hadn’t seen him shirtless yet, his body is _incredible_ …Kuroro paused, both legs off the edge of the bed, body astride Kurapika whose legs were splayed wide open with the jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, propped up on his forearms to fully appreciate Kuroro in his glory.

                “Like what you see?”

                He did. His jaw was slack, no words were coming.

                Kuroro’s body was pale, but toned; he had broad shoulders, well-defined collar bones, and a visible six pack. When he turned, Kurapika could see the large Saint Peter’s cross tattooed on his muscular back.

                “I thought you might…” Kuroro pressed himself back down on top of him, now he could _really_ smell him, _god_ he smelled good, Kurapika tilted his head up so that Kuroro could grind down on him, lips pressing hard into his neck, tongue swirling warm and wet against the skin, hand reaching back down, down into his jeans…

                “ _Ohhh….”_ Kurapika moaned, closing his eyes, when he felt Kuroro’s hand around him. He wasn’t going to cum right away, not this time. He had prepared. But god, did it feel good.

                Kuroro gripped tighter at his reaction. He wasn’t teasing this time. He had gone straight underneath his waistband. His thumb rubbed over the tip of Kurapia’s cock, feeling the wetness already dripping from it. He felt Kuroro inhale deeply with arousal and growled, grinding himself harder on top of him. “God, you’re so ready for me.” He thrust his face into Kurapika’s shoulder, biting the skin there as he used both hands to grip the sides of Kurapika’s jeans and tug them down. He was finally getting to take him and he wasn’t going to be gentle.

                He was _not_ going to be gentle.

                Every touch, every move Kuroro made, Kurapika responded in kind; his body was as reactive as a teardrop on the water; every ripple spread throughout his skin, his cheeks were pink, his eyes were unfocused. He lifted his hips; off came his jeans. His body shivered with fear and excitement as his boxer briefs came next. He lay there naked, looking up at Kuroro who was kneeling on the bed, still donning his own dark jeans, though they were unzipped and currently being pulled down.

                He looked _amazing._

                Dark hair, pale body, unzipped jeans. Kurapika wanted to memorize the image.

                Until it got better. And Kuroro was naked.

                He kneeled there, completely erect and not underwhelming by any stretch of the word, looking for all in the world like the perfect image of a Greek statue.

                 But he was hungry for Kurapika, and you could see it in his eyes. He was going to show him.

                “Be a good boy. Suck my cock.”

                Kurapika looked up at him, fear racing through him. No way could he pleasure him and make him feel as good as he wanted to, but he would try….

                As soon as he had tentatively moved into kneeling position, Kuroro had grabbed the back of his head, thrusting it downward onto him, moaning as he felt Kurapika’s mouth around him.

                “Ah…that’s it…get me nice and wet for you…” Kurapika’s throat _gulped_ around him, “for me to fuck you, nice and hard.”

                 A few more wet _gulps_ and Kuroro released his head, seemingly satisfied with the mess Kurapika had made, saliva dripping down onto the white silk sheets. He looked down at Kurapika’s face, eyes wide, mouth open, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, and had to stop himself from throwing him over and _ravaging_ him. “God.” Kuroro bit the corner of his lip. “Roll over.”

                It was a command.

                Kurapika was afraid, but he trusted Kuroro not to hurt him beyond what he was ready for. Deep down, that’s what he really believed. For now. He turned over, on all fours, before feeling all of Kuroro’s weight on top of him, pressing him prone onto the bed, chest heavy against him.

                He could feel Kuroro’s rock hard, now soaking wet cock pressing into his back and was momentarily afraid that he was going to fuck him without any preparation.

                “Don’t worry, Kurapika….I’ll take care of you _…”_ Kuroro whispered directly under his ear, the sound of his own name causing every hair on the delicate skin of his neck to stand on edge as he felt a single wet finger slide into him. “Ah!...” he cried out, before his voice was cut off, Kuroro’s other hand had gripped him tightly from underneath his chin and was gently choking him. Distracted by the tightness in his throat, his inability to cry out, he felt his muscles relaxing and the pain give way to pleasure. A second finger slid into him. He gasped for air, Kuroro only temporarily removing his hand to grant him a small gasp of air.

                He felt the fingers sliding out of him and the grip around his neck tighten. “You ready? Because I’m taking you now, _”_ Kurapika could only choke out his approval, he could barely think straight, but he _did_ want it, he _did-…._

                …and _ah,_ Kuroro was _inside_ him, it was so full, he was completely filled up, every inch of his being was submitting, belonged to Kuroro, it _hurt,_ but it felt _right,_ this was where he _belonged…._

 He was thrusting slowly at first, hand still tight around Kurapika’s throat, pulling out gently and pushing back in, every thrust, every reaction from Kurapika’s body forcing him faster and tighter, Kurapika was light-headed but it only enhanced the pleasure he was feeling; something deep inside him was starting to burn, he was feeling hot, he wanted to explode, he wanted to release, he wanted Kuroro to keep _thrusting_ but it _hurt-_

He gasped for breath, feeling himself close to climax, Kurapika felt the growl in his ear again, “did I say you could cum?” Kurapika couldn’t help it, the way Kuroro moved his hips, the way he dipped inside, the way he touched….”Cant-ghh-hold it---gk…” Kurapika choked it out, the grip on his throat tightening in response, he could feel himself reacting to the grip and it surprised him when his body released in the most intense orgasm he had ever felt in his life, succumbing from the very tip of his head to the very tips of his toes, stars dancing in front of his eyes and white noise rushing in his ears.

                Kuroro could feel the man convulsing beneath him, could feel his struggle to breathe and cum at the same time, could feel his body choosing first one, and then crying out for the other. He thrust harder, driven wild by it, so aroused by Kurapika’s primal response he was close to climax himself.

                Kurapika came around seconds later when he felt Kuroro thrust his last thrust deep inside of him, felt him still, felt the convulsions inside of him, felt the slick wetness as he slowly withdrew.

                He lay there, collapsed face down on the bed, gasping for air, mind completely lost in his body.

                It was a few seconds before his hands ran over his throat, certain there would be bruising there tomorrow. His eyes glanced downward to the marks healing on his forearm. How intent was this man on bruising up every part of his body?

                Kuroro was watching him, propped upright against the myriad of black and white silk pillows adorning the bed.

                When Kurapika caught his eye, he was expecting him to, he didn’t know, wink, or act suave as usual. But he didn’t. He just sat there, watching him.

                So Kurapika did what _he_ wanted to do.

                He moved in closer, and he nuzzled his way under Kuroro’s arm. Half of him expected him to freeze, or pull away, or make fun of him. But he didn’t. In fact, when Kurapika looked up at him, he had closed his eyes, and seemed to succumb to an expression of peace.

                Kurapika sighed deeply himself, letting his eyelids flutter shut.

                “Just this once, blondie.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really happens, but it's been a while since I've written, and I wanted to get back into the swing of it. Feelin' these two again. Found some inspo. Ready for what's coming next for them...

                They stood at the railing, breeze whipping their hair like leaves in the wind. Kurapika stole a glance at Kuroro; the wind from the altitude was blowing his hair back off his face, his expression was calm, placid, lost in thought; the sun was embedded in cloud cover and small raindrops were beginning to drizzle down on top of them. The Seattle skyline surrounded them from all angles of the rooftop, and the ocean was visible from the direction of the railing they were facing.

                “It’s cold,” he found himself saying, unhappy with how cliché he sounded, a hint of a whine tinging his words.

                Kuroro, unruffled as always, moved closer and wound his arm around Kurapika’s body. “Let’s be cold together, then.”

                Kurapika breathed him in, felt all the tension leave his body as Kuroro’s warmth surrounded him. This was a good place to be, even if there was still tension in the air itself that he couldn’t place or understand.

                Kuroro inhaled deeply on the joint he was holding and handed it to Kurapika, breathing out a slow cloud of vapor into the close grey sky, immediately extinguished by the raindrops falling heavier now. Kurapika took it and inhaled deeply himself. He could feel the last of the tension melt away with the release of breath. They stood there together until it was finished. It wasn’t too massive; he only felt a nice relaxed buzz.

                Kuroro was watching him. Kurapika didn’t know it. Kuroro had baited the hook, he knew how the blonde had fallen for him. He was starting to enjoy how it felt, actually. Well, the kid wasn’t bad looking- smart too- and the feeling of desire was intoxicating. He felt high from the knowledge alone that every spare thought- every spare _fiber_ of Kurapika’s being was devoted to him.

                He had ultimate power.

                But he wasn’t going to abuse it. He was going to be kind, and gentle, and play along. Have him fall so deep the release would be _exquisite_ at the end.

                He placed a hand gently in the small of Kurapika’s back and leaned his face in close to his neck. “Let’s go back inside,” he murmured into the bare skin there. His face was so close his lips came apart slick with the rain dancing on his skin.

                Kurapika nodded and followed Kuroro back downstairs to his apartment. Kuroro didn’t like to smoke inside; he preferred the rooftop. Kurapika didn’t mind. He had always had a thing for rooftops. They made him feel…he didn’t know. But he liked it.

                They were getting ready to go out for the night, and for once, it wasn’t to Warehouse. Kuroro had mentioned something about “sick of that place right now” and wanting to stay away for a while. They would be meeting Kuroro’s friends as well; he was finally getting to put bodies to the names he had heard so many times in passing. Kurapika didn’t feel like asking why they weren’t going to Warehouse- knowing him well enough by now that he wouldn’t have gotten any coherent answers even if he did ask. Better to just go along with the flow. He liked it that way anyway. Kuroro brought out another side of him, a side where he wasn’t afraid to let go, wasn’t afraid that if he didn’t execute every single thing in his life perfectly, then he had failed. Where even if he showed his vulnerabilities- his impulsiveness, his fear, his desire, his rage; everything he’d kept pent up inside- he knew Kuroro would just be there, smiling placidly, unwavering in his stoicism. It made Kurapika feel safe somehow.

                Kuroro was standing at the door, keys in his hand; the exact picture of Kurapika’s very imagination at that moment as he was lost in thought. “Any day now, blondie,” he smiled. “One tends to lose oneself in their own thoughts as one should know after inhaling even marginal quantities of marijuana,” Kurapika noted in his defense. He thought he saw Kuroro’s eyes crinkle up in genuine amusement then. And was that an _eye roll?_  “Always so clinical, you are. You should lighten up a bit. You know, I bet smoking some pot would help with that.” He was grinning widely.  

                Kurapika was annoyed now, that was not the response he was expecting. He did not consider himself to be a person who gets lost in their thoughts too often, and yet, when he was around Kuroro it was all he ever seemed to do. He huffed air out of his nose and lead the way through the doorway, passing a facetiously bowing Kuroro on the way out. 

               He could see the corners of a smile peeking up from under the soft black bangs.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys have feelings too.

                He looked in the mirror. Dark strands fell into his field of vision; he brushed them aside. The sensation caused his mind to flash back to his mother, large brown eyes, soft, staring into his, brushing the hair out of his face. “You always had the most beautiful eyes, darling.” She smiled at him, and he felt warm, happy, loved… there was the loud thud of a door opening and closing in the background, and his mother’s body language changed. “Your father’s home…” she whispered, still gently brushing aside his hair, “be brave, dear, be brave…”

                He started, realizing he was still staring at his own reflection, pupils dilated in the dim light of the bathroom. He wondered why that memory had come to him now. He didn’t like to think of his parents. He didn’t like it at all. He had banished those memories from his mind, he had thought. His past didn’t define him. He defined himself.

                He was Kuroro. He wasn’t a sad child, cowering while his father beat his mother and threatened him next. He wasn’t ashamed of his own feelings of anger, of madness, of thoughts of violence that grew like a dark seed in the back of his mind. He hadn’t watched his mother grow ill from the physical manifestations of years of abuse; her soft, warm light fading like an old sofa left in a dingy room, covered in layers of dust and cigarette burns. He hadn’t had enough one day and thrust a knife through his father’s back. He hadn’t watched his mother die not long after, the sensation of her hands still cool on his face, the warmth long gone, even in life.

                No. He was Kuroro. He had built a life for himself. There were some things he had inherited from his father of which he was _not_ ashamed; his propensity for leadership, his ability for business, his cold, calculated manner, his keenly sharpened instincts and his cavernous intelligence. And then there were some things he was less willing with which to identify. His lack of empathy. His inability to feel value for every human life. The way in which he viewed the people around him as objects, to be used and manipulated in his grand design. His desire to _achieve_ through the use of others. The ability to cast them aside as if they were nothing.

                But he never thought about those things. Why was he thinking about them now?

                He was proud of who he was.

                Killing was simply a part of life. It’s how you finished the job. You rob them of the very thing that gives them existence. To have that power…that was what gave the child inside of him a reason to live. The child that had no power of his own. And now he had the greatest power of all.

                Was that who he wanted to be?

                Would his mother….be proud?

               

* * *

 

 

                “Boss has called off the hit.”

                “What?” Machi, the pink-haired long-term girlfriend of the man who had delivered the news, responded incredulously. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

                “Yeah. And yet, there it is.” The speaker was Nobu. He had long, dark hair he pulled back into a low ponytail. Though he- and the rest of them- worked under Kuroro performing hits, thieveries and drug deals, he also performed as a DJ in his club as a hobby.

                “I don’t like it,” Machi responded again, rubbing her chin and looking pensively at the ground. “Something’s wrong.”

                “Yeah, well, what are you gonna do about it?” This time the speaker was a man named Uvogin, whom they referred to as Uvo, a large, broad-chested brute who did most of the heavy lifting (so-to-speak) for the group. He had growled out the words with an anger that suggested he was feeling the same emotions.

                “Maybe we _should_ do something about it.” This time the speaker was a young dark-haired woman in glasses who was one of the newest members of their gang.

                “What did you have in mind, Shizuku?”

                “Well….boss doesn’t want us to kill the kid anymore, right? But he didn’t say we can’t…mess him around a little.” Shizuku delivered the line with as much emotion as a newscaster delivering the weather as she pressed her glasses up her nose.

                “Hey, yeah!” Uvo growled in agreement. “Surely boss won’t mind if we just rough him up. Make him a little less pretty. Kid rubs me the wrong way, anyway. He’s so up his own ass. I’ve been dying to land a punch on him since I met him.”

                “Hold on a minute, Uvo.” This time a young, well-built but androgynous blonde man was speaking in a clear, concise tone. Though he was speaking directly to Uvo, it almost seemed like he was simply musing his own thoughts out loud.

                “If boss called off the hit, it might mean he’s not interested in killing the kid _at all._ Maybe he’s had a change of heart. Maybe he wants him alive. That would mean he wouldn’t be too happy about us roughing him up.”

                “You can’t possibly think he wants to keep him alive, Shalnark?” Machi asked incredulously. “He’s been planning this hit for years! Surely he just wants to wait for a better night?”

                “We can’t know that. As much as I agree with Ugo about Kurapika, I say we respect the boss’s decision.”  

                “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.” It was Nobu speaking. “This feels wrong. We’ve been planning tonight for weeks. Everything was going perfectly.” He was pacing around the small dark room they were currently occupying. “Why now? Why the change of heart?”

                They were in a vault. Well, it _used_ to be a vault- the building, which used to be a bank, had been converted into a bar and the vaults had been converted into VIP only rooms. The bar was unimaginatively named “The Vault,” though it contained many of the aforementioned spaces. Both Kurapika and Kuroro had been there not long ago, socializing and drinking whiskey on the rocks. It wasn’t long before that Kuroro had taken Kurapika to the main bar, excused himself to the bathroom, and called for Nobu to deliver his change of plans. He had not yet returned with Kurapika.

                The plan had been to tell Kurapika he had been feeling ill and have him return to the vault alone. Kuroro and the owner were business partners and long-time friends. This particular vault had a secret back entrance that they would have used to dispose of his body and in the darkness of the club and due to the location of the vault nobody would have seen him enter.

                The gang was disappointed.

               

* * *

 

               

                “They liked you.” Kuroro smiled at Kurapika.

                Kurapika looked at his drink. Something felt weird. They hadn’t returned to the back room, and Kuroro had told him they were just going to grab another drink. Well, they had their drinks. And why had Kuroro taken so long to come back from the bathroom? His body language had felt stiff, and he didn’t normally feel stiff. Stoic, yes; but not stiff. Not… _distant,_ like he was far away.

                 “Um, yeah.” He tried to smile, but he had never been good at faking emotions. Kurapika wore his feelings on his sleeve and he didn’t try to fight it.

                Kuroro didn’t press him. It was almost like he didn’t want to address the tension in the air. In fact, it was exactly like that. Instead, he stood there and sipped his whiskey, waiting for Kurapika to speak first.

                “Were we going to head back to the room? I was enjoying meeting your friends.”

                Kuroro ran his finger around the rim of his glass, musing. “I thought we’d give them a little more time to talk about you first.” He smiled, like he was making a joke, but Kurapika wasn’t amused. He could remember snippets of the conversation he had overheard in Kuroro’s apartment, and he had felt that same strange tension in the back room when meeting Kururo’s… _friends._

 Something was finally starting to prickle on the back of Kurapika’s neck. The little hairs were starting to stand up. Something was… _off._ Tonight didn’t feel like the rest of the nights. And it was making him put on different glasses when he looked backwards- making him see Kuroro for what he really was. Had he ever been honest with him…had he ever really told him anything about himself, who those people really were, who _he_ really was? What was Warehouse…what was his connection to this place as well, where they breezed past the line and came around the back, breezing past yet another bodyguard at the mere sight of him?

                It was like he was waking up from a lust-filled fog and his rational senses- his _mind_ \- was starting to take back over.

                He set his whiskey down on the bar. The glass wasn’t empty yet.

                “I think I’d like to go home now.”            

                He stood up and turned around, simultaneously surprised and yet comforted by his own convictions. This was the self that he knew. This was the self that he was most familiar with.

                He didn’t care if Kuroro followed him. But to his surprise, he did. When he had pushed his way past the crowd and out the exit, harsh Seattle air cool and fresh on his face, he felt a hand grip his shoulder and turn him around with some force.

                “What are you doing? Why would you leave like that? The night has barely even started.” Kuroro’s voice had hardly changed, but Kurapika could sense a strange sense of desperation, of confusion there that indicated Kuroro’s uneasiness, though he was masking it with his usual attempt at stoicism. It wasn’t an emotion Kuroro was used to feeling.

                “I don’t know!” Kurapika answered, almost instinctively, throwing his arms up in an attempt to wrangle out of Kuroro’s grip. “I don’t…I don’t know who those people are, I feel like I barely know who _you_ are. Here I am meeting your friends, and yet you barely tell me anything about you, even when I ask. Your friends were strange, and they clearly did _not_ like me despite your obvious lies. There’s been weird tension all night, and I just…I don’t know, OK? I want to go home.”

                Kuroro dropped his arm, and Kurapika let his arms fall to his side. Silence fell around them save for the whistling of the wind in the trees behind the building, merely dark silhouettes against the pitch black of the Seattle sky and ominous shadows of cloud and slices of moonlight penetrating them.

                Kurapika took in a deep breath in order to relax his nervous system. The air smelled of both grease and fresh pine, with a hint of the whiskey Kuroro and him had both been recently drinking.

                They looked at one another.

                “I understand,” Kuroro responded. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound mean. “At least let me walk you home.”

                They actually were not too far from where Kurapika lived. This particular district was close to campus- well, not _close_ , but a doable walk. And they both had warm jackets.

                “OK.”

               

                Since he had rushed out of the bar without grabbing his jacket, he was surprised to see Kuroro holding it. Kurapika inwardly cursed his rage that caused him to act sometimes without thinking things through. The decision to leave had been momentary and instinctive, though he had convinced himself it wasn’t. He was glad Kuroro had followed him. And as he shivered, he was glad Kuroro had had the foresight to grab his jacket as well as his own.  

                “Turn around.” Kuroro held his jacket open, implying that he would help Kurapika put it on. Kurapika did. He inserted one arm at a time, and felt Kuroro pull the parka tight around him, encompassing him in a hug from behind as he did so. He felt Kuroro’s face on his neck, brushing against his hair, and his arms tight around his waist. He had a momentary desire to struggle- to get away- he was still mad, after all, even if he was accepting the jacket and the walk. But this was what he _did,_ Kuroro. This was how he got him. He just…was. He just acted. And he was familiar, and his breath smelled nice, like cloves and whiskey, and it was warm on his neck, and it was soft and it was tickling him and it was only making him shiver more. He closed his eyes. But Kuroro didn’t escalate. He only hugged. And when he was done, he pulled Kurapika’s hood up over his blonde head, as there were the telltale drops of rain starting to fall from the sky.

                And he put on his own jacket, and they started walking.

                They walked in silence.

                As they walked, Kuroro reached out, and grabbed Kurapika’s hand. And they walked, two men with their parkas on and hoods up, in the cold, breath coming out in hot clouds, only silence between them…. and the joining of hands.

 

               

               


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua will be showing up again next chapter. Kurapika has been feeling off, and he knows it.

                As they walked, Kuroro could feel the tension rising in his own body. It wasn’t that he was specifically _angry_ at Kurapika per se, for he was totally in the right to react that way, and Kuroro knew it. No. He was frustrated with himself, with the situation, with his own feelings; he was frustrated that he could see those feelings and yet he knew exactly how he was going to respond anyway.

                The sky was somehow both dark and grey at the same time, and the drizzle was permeating him from the outside in. He was sick of it, and yet he craved it; he missed it when the sun came out, and he reveled in it when the wind blew just right.

                And it did.

                He couldn’t see Kurapika’s face from where he was standing and the angle at which they were walking. It was quiet except for their footsteps and the sounds of the city around them. Cars passing in the rain; rare, where they were, but one still would on occasion. Honking in the distance. Trees, either planted by humans or merely allowed to stay living on their native territory, isolated in the concrete jungle, singing their _swish swish_ of branches into the wind.

                He couldn’t stand it. He gripped Kurapika’s hand tight and pulled him close to his body, catching his surprised face in an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue slipped in almost immediately, he tilted his head to get a better angle, he wanted to _breathe_ into his body, he wanted to feel his life pulsing, he wanted to taste everything he was and feel him start to surrender in his arms.

                Kurapika hated how much he wanted this. He hated how he melted, every single nerve in his body relaxing almost instantly in order to allow for the pure, hot pulsing to grow instead. He hated how the taste of Kuroro’s tongue, the feeling of it in his mouth, _penetrating_ him, made him feel things he didn’t know he needed until he was there.

                Kuroro’s hand had pulled down his hood to grip the back of his head, his fingers coursing tightly through his hair, aggressively pulling his face even closer, rain drizzling onto both their faces. He didn’t even want to stop to breathe. He wanted to be pulled, he wanted to feel the hands as his scalp burned red and tight, he wanted to have the breath drawn out of him with every tug.

                Kuroro had gripped his shoulders now, standing in the dark, in the rain, on the corner of a street in the middle of nowhere, looking for the closest wall with which to slam Kurapika’s back against.

                _There- an alley._

He dragged Kurapika towards it, not bothering to notice internally how many times they had met like this, in alleyways, in the rain. They never ended up normal. They never ended up safe, or boring. They found places to engage in their mutual wanton disregard for reality, to disrobe their buttoned-up hearts and expose them to the darkness, to the wet, to the slick, to the rain and the brick and the grease and the heat of Kurapika’s skin inside his jacket and it was _warm…_ he slipped a hand under the front of his shirt, the other still coursing through his long blonde hair, gripping him, angling his head to kiss him, tease him, dominate his mouth exactly the way he wanted. He could almost sense Kurapika’s resistance- something that was new, something that he had never felt in him before- and yet Kurapika was fighting it, he was fighting his own twin desires to liberate himself from the sexual desire so potent it was inescapable, and the desire to free himself from the mental tortures he was enduring to satiate that very thirst.

                Kuroro didn’t care. He _more_ than didn’t care- he welcomed this new resistance. He could play with this, he could take this. He pressed Kurapika’s body back against the wet stone. He withdrew himself from the kiss, placing a hand underneath Kurapika’s chin, tilting it upwards towards his face. Kurapika’s long blonde lashes decorated his deep brown eyes as they gazed, defiantly, into Kuroro’s. It was obviously taking all of his will not to shout something at him, as his body was trembling and his expression was tight.

                 “Do I frustrate you, Kurapika?”

                Kurapika was surprised at the use of his name. But he didn’t break eye contact.

                Kuroro, still gripping his chin, leaned in and pressed his lips up against Kurapika’s, both of their lips pressed shut, but not in tenderness; the aggression behind it was apparent only in the subtlety of Kuroro’s movements with which Kurapika was now accustomed.

                “Do you want to fight me? Do you want to…hurt me?”

                He had taken one of Kurapika’s hands with his free hand, pressing it to the front of his pants where his throbbing erection was begging for attention.

                As he gripped Kurapika’s head, he leaned in close to his ear to whisper “but see what you do to me? You drive me crazy. I want to have you every way that I can.”

                Kuroro released him, almost with a shrug. The only time he couldn’t be stoic- when he couldn’t keep his composure- was when he was filled with desire for Kurapika. His brain became muddled with dirty thoughts, with anger and aggression, with lust and rage and desire and sin. He was angry that he felt this way, and he was angry at Kurapika for existing. He didn’t want to discover that there was somebody, somebody who could draw him out of his perfect shell and into the cold hard world.

                He didn’t know what it meant, he didn’t understand his own feelings. He wanted to hurt Kurapika, he wanted to make him pay for the things he had made Kuroro feel. His vengeance had started turning from revenge for something outside of his control to something very, very personal.

                He pulled Kurapika into another kiss, this time opening his lips, caressing them gently around Kurapika’s own; first encompassing the bottom lip, then the top, then the bottom again, ending the encounter with a small bite hard enough to draw a rivulet of blood, lost immediately in the rain.

                “This doesn’t mean I’m OK.”

                Kurapika was defiant, his blonde hair draping around his face, the pale warm light of the closest streetlamp illuminating his skin and glowing like two lanterns from the depths of his eyes. He was _beautiful._

                “Just tell me what you need. I’ll give you anything.” And in that moment, he meant it.

                 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon spills the beans.

                Kurapika escaped from Kuroro’s grip. He was giving his answer through his actions. He didn’t want Kuroro to give him things. He wanted to reconcile the differences between his heart and his brain. And he knew deep down something was off. Kuroro was trying to distract him with his body. And though it was tempting, he wasn’t going to let it work.

                “I see.” Kuroro spoke plainly. Kurapika stared at him, before opening his mouth: “I just need to think.”

                Kuroro was not used to this. How dare this person- this blonde, feisty bundle of nerves and skin and organs dare tell _him_ he wanted to think? How dare he…reject him?

                He stood, frozen. It was like the air was sucked out of the environment and all that either of them could hear was the others’ breath caught in their throat.

                “I’ll let you think, then,” Kuroro finally broke the tension, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips, as if his anger had never been. “Why don’t you contact me, when you’re ready?”

                 Kurapika nodded. And then he turned around and finished his walk home. Kuroro did not follow him. He was smart enough to understand what had just happened.

 

* * *

 

_“Hey man. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Everything ok?”_

It was a message from Killua. Kurapika was happy to see it. Killua always made him feel like everything was alright. He was just, well, he was just plain fun to be around.

                _“Yeah…just been busy.”_

_“Gon and I are having some people over. You should come, man.”_

                _“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds cool. I’ll be over soon.”_

Kurapika suddenly realized how excited he was to see his two friends. Killua and Gon were inseparable. Kurapika loved them both. They could be idiots sometimes, but he loved them.

He showed up to their apartment still rainsoaked, but smiling. Killua opened the door and loud music poured out, along with a sunny, cheerful vibe. “Hey man! I’m so glad you could make it!” He smiled a big toothy smile. Before Kurapika could respond, he saw brown spiky hair pop up from behind Killua’s shoulder before feeling the heavy thud of being embraced in a full-body hug.

He laughed. Kurapika had a lovely, tinkling laugh that cascaded around them like a warm light. “Happy to see you too, Gon,” he chuckled, embracing the brunette.

 

* * *

 

The party had already been going for a while. Killua and Gon were already fairly inebriated. Kurapika didn’t feel too much like drinking, but he had a few anyway. He couldn’t resist the charms of those two. He had forgotten what it felt like to be around people who behaved like an open book- well, for the _most_ part, at least. It did seem like Killua was holding back ever so slightly, and he couldn’t figure out why.

Some time had passed, and the three of them were the only ones left awake. The few other guests- their friend Leorio, and some others Kurapika didn’t know- had either fallen asleep (in Leorio’s case, in full clothing, glasses and all, upright and snoring on the couch) or left. Kurapika looked at Leorio and smiled. He had missed his other friend as well.

“Glad to see you happy, Kurapika.” Gon said with a grin.

“Who said I wasn’t happy?” he replied, startled.

“Well, I never, um…no one _said….”_ Kurapika noticed Killua shooting Gon a look that said _stop now if you wish to stay alive._

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about?” Kurapika asked them both, eyeing Killua especially hard.

Killua looked like he was about to start protesting when Gon burst out, “we know you’ve been spending time with that drug guy! I know you can take care of yourself but I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I worry about you!”

Kurapika fought back the temptation to laugh. _Gon_ worries about _him?_ Kid had a good head on his shoulders, but could be very thoughtless at times and got himself into all kinds of trouble because of it. Then he realized what Gon had said.

“…drug guy?”

“Let’s not worry about that now. Kurapika knows what he’s…” Killua tried to jump in before Gon cut him off again.

“Yeah! You know, the guy who runs the major drug ring in the city. The one suspected of being a mob boss. I thought you knew!”

Kurapika looked at Killua, who had descended into a pose very like that of a small embarrassed cat. He tried to smile nervously. “I haven’t told him yet, Gon.”

“Oh….” Gon looked down, as if trying very hard to think about what this might mean. He perked up again. “Does that mean you didn’t know?” He looked at Kurapika.

Kurapika was silent. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Drug ring? Mob boss? Were they talking about the same guy? That couldn’t be Kuroro. He was so … calm, collected, _intelligent._ “Surely you don’t mean Kuroro?”

“Its not confirmed. But I saw an article that suspected him of being the ringleader in the crime syndicate responsible for several thefts and murders in this area and a few others in the past. I didn’t want to say anything because I wanted to find out more before I did. And, I didn’t feel like it was any of my business. I wondered if you might have already known and were simply… going a little dark. Maybe you had your own reasons. I would get that.” Killua shrugged.

Kurapika was still stunned. Everything was starting to make sense now. The Warehouse, the drugs, the phone calls, the weird behavior at The Vault…

“Its true.” He stood tall, confidence regained at the realization of what seemed so obvious now. “I can’t confirm it, but after what I’ve seen, I don’t doubt it.”

Gon’s mouth fell open. “What have you seen, Kurapika?”

“Nothing that would hold up in a court room. But a lot of connections that I didn’t previously understand make sense now. It’s…it’s the only thing that makes sense.” He shook his head, blonde hair framing his delicate features.

“I’m sorry Kurapika. I know you like him.” God bless him, Gon was just so damn _earnest_ it never failed to melt Kurapika’s heart.

“Its okay, actually. It almost feels relieving. I had started feeling like something was off about him and I couldn’t figure out what it was. It’s a relief to know I’m not crazy.”

Gon and Killua exchanged incredulous looks with each other. “ _Not crazy?”_ Killua exclaimed. “You’re one of the- if not _the_ most intelligent person I know. I was wondering what kind of crazy spell this guy had cast on you, if you hadn’t suspected anything yet. He’s obviously incredibly dangerous. Or at least, he knows what he was doing. He was probably trying to hide it from you for a reason.”

Kurapika raised an eyebrow at this suggestion. Hide it from him on purpose? Well sure, nobody wanted to go around introducing themselves as a mob boss. Maybe he wanted to get to know Kurapika better before admitting his real choice of career. But that didn’t sound right. Kurapika remembered the books he had seen in Kuroro’s apartment…books about criminal law. He suddenly remembered the look of curiosity on Kuroro’s face when he had mentioned his father. When he had mentioned the case that had made his father quit his profession as a prosecutor.

“Killua, can I see that article? Actually….did you say you had found out more about him? What else did you find?”

Killlua looked a little sheepish, but admitted that he had spent time doing some research on him. “What else did you want to know?”

“You said there were other areas before this one that he had been suspected of being involved in the local thefts and murders. Do you remember where those were?”

“Yeah, I think so. If I recall correctly, they actually started in a small town near Chicago…”

Kurapika immediately stood closer to Killua, a hand on his shoulder, a ferocious intensity burning in his voice. “What town, Killua?? What was the name of the town?” 

Kurapika stood there as reality started fading out of his field of vision. Killua couldn't have just said the name of the town he grew up in. He couldn't have said the name of the town where his parents were brutally murdered. He couldn't have said the name of the town where a man, famous for his outstanding work in the field of law, had caught, prosecuted and sentenced a criminal from a well-known syndicate to his death and then was forced into retirement for fear of his own life. The name of the town he was from. The name of the town his father was from.

   But Killua _had_ said that name. 

It was all clear now. 

Kuroro knew who he was. He had known who he was from the second he had first met him. Was it all an elaborate plot? A scheme for...for what? First they killed his parents and now they...wanted to clean up the rest? Why bother with the act, the seduction, the drugs, the sex? Was it all part of Kuroro's plan?

Kurapika's mind was reeling. He stepped back from Killua, eyes blazing in the light. 

"Kurapika are....are you alright?" Gon asked tentatively. "What does it mean? Why does that town matter?"

Kurapika choked out the only thing he could say in that moment: 

 _"_ I need a drink."

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell me I can't have it.  
> Because that would mean that I wanted it at all.

                “So what are you going to do Kurapika?” Gon still managed to sound _cheerful_ despite the situation, handing each of the two men their drinks.

                Kurapika shook his head, blonde hair falling around his face. “I don’t want to think about that at this very moment. I think I need to wait until…until my senses are clear again.”

                Killua couldn’t help himself. He snorted at Kurapika’s word choice. Who even talks like that? Kurapika could come across as so condescending sometimes. Even when he was drunk, somehow. Only Kurapika could manage that.

                Killua noticed Gon glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, smiling into his shot. Killua felt the strange rumble in his belly that he had been trying to ignore lately. _Damnit, Gon._

The three of them gasped in relief as they finished the contents of their glasses. Killua felt it wash over him at the same time as he observed Kurapika, standing with his eyes closed, grimacing indistinguishably from the pain of the recent news or from the warmth of the alcohol.

                Killua felt himself soften inside. “Kurapika…I think it’s probably time we got you to bed.”

                Gon immediately piped up. “Yeah! You can have my bed. I can sleep with Killua!”

                Killua felt the hairs on his body start prickling at the declaration. “Don’t be _weird,_ Gon…” he was almost slurring now, he realized with a shock. It must have been that last shot. “Men don’t do that. Men don’t have sleepovers like little girls!”

                Gon giggled. “Who cares what men do. I think it’ll be fun!”

                 

* * *

 

                Kurapika lay in bed, staring at his phone, the screen spinning in and out of his field of vision. The message was addressed to Kuroro, but nothing was written yet. His mind was spinning worse than the world around him.

                What did he want to say? He knew he shouldn’t act rashly and message something this inebriated.

                _”Fuck you, you piece of shit. How dare you string me along like a chew toy, playing with me for entertainment. Do you know how much I’ve suffered because of you? Because of what you’ve done to my family? And now…now you act like it was nothing, like I’m just another treat to be devoured for your pleasure?” -_ Kurapika’s blood was boiling red as his thoughts ran wild- _“well guess what, Kuroro. Two can play at that game. I’m not afraid of dying. I lost that fear ever since I saw my parents covered in their own blood. My own life means nothing anymore. If it means I can ruin_ you… _I’m willing to sacrifice myself for your game. Yes…I’ll lead you right to the end. And then I’ll take everything from you, the way you did to me.”_

He gripped his phone tight, the word “Kuroro” lit up bright in the dark room like a strange beacon. The thorns had gripped his heart and were starting to puncture the fleshy muscle within. He was losing himself to the battle. He wanted to tear Kuroro’s heart out as much as he knew Kuroro had been doing with him. And in a way…in a sharp, slicing way, it felt good. It felt good to know that no matter where this path walked, he would find an end.

                He would have revenge, or he would die.

 

* * *

 

 

                “Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave Kurapika alone?” Killua chewed on his lip, looking pensively at his dark-haired friend.

                “Kurapika wouldn’t want our company right now anyway. I think he needs to be…he likes to be alone to process things, you know? Besides, he’s probably passed out by now.” Gon’s eyes were smiling as he tugged off his white tank top, preparing to dive under the covers. Compared to how much effort it was taking to stand right now, the warmth, stability and fluffiness of the bed seemed like _heaven_.

                “Yeah…” Killua gulped, the word catching in his throat as the visuals of his topless friend hit him like a ten-ton truck.

 _What the hell?_ He’d seen Gon without a shirt before. But it was like…it hadn’t felt like this, then. He hadn’t noticed the way the alcohol-induced sweat clung finely to his perfectly shaped muscles, or how his normally-spiky hair fell undone and messy about his face, framing his honey-bronze eyes so that they shone in the darkness.

                He suddenly felt even more awkward about climbing into bed next to his friend. His friend that he’d known since he was a boy. His friend who he’d talked about girls with, who had shared their favorite _porn_ movies with each other for christ’s sake…

                He was overthinking this. He liked girls. He knew he did.

                But he couldn’t deny the small blush in his cheeks when he tugged off his own tank top and peeled back his side of the covers. Gon was already splayed out, flat on his back, eyes closed. He sat for a second, watching the rise and fall of Gon’s chiseled chest.

                _You’re just confused, that’s all. Just…drunk. Drunk and confused._

Not fully satisfied with this rationalization, he rolled himself over, pointedly facing away from the half-naked well-built man in the green shorts, and let sleep take him.

 

* * *

 

               

                The next morning came without mercy, sun rolling in through the cracks in the blinds (Gon and Killua were not the types for curtains), forcing them to accept their feeble mortality in the face of it.

                “Ughghhhhhh…” Killua smashed his face into the pillow, wishing to wash the light off his body and bathe in the darkness instead.

                His hands flinging out at his sides reminded him instantly that he was not alone.

                He jumped up at the contact, causing Gon to blink open his own eyes in response, their normal honey-brown tinged with the redness indicative of a lack of restful sleep.

                “Uh, I’ll go put some coffee on.” Killua quickly stammered, grabbing his tank top and leaving Gon as he sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

                He stood outside the door, heart hammering, all traces of sleep and hangover momentarily forgotten. _What was that? What is wrong with you? Get it together, Killua._

                He almost walked dead-on into Kurapika in the hallway, both of them looking more awake than they should have been.

                “Sleep well?” Kurapika eyed his white-haired friend.

                Killua smiled and shrugged. “Eh. Gon’s a kicker.”

                Kurapika smiled in response.

                They arrived at a crumpled-up suit on the couch, the contents of which was a dark-haired man named Leorio.

                “Oh boy. Somebody hit the liquor a little too hard last night,” Kurapika could not keep the smile out of his voice. At the sound of it, the suit perked up a little, spluttering and coughing from the drool collected in the corners of his mouth.

                They heard only the mumbling of expletives as Leorio fumbled for his glasses from where the boys had set them on the end table for safety while wiping the drool from his lips.

                “Don’t worry, Leorio. We’ll put on some coffee.” Killua was already in the kitchen, bumping about and throwing together a pot.

                It wasn’t long before the four of them, Gon, Killua, Leorio and Kurapika were sitting around Gon and Killua’s small kitchen table, sharing a pot of steaming coffee. They had briefly filled Leorio in on Kurapika’s situation. “Well Kurapika, whatever you decide to do, we support you,” Leorio had said firmly, hands cupping his mug but maintaining gentle steady eye contact with his friend. “I don’t want to see you get hurt…but I know you can handle yourself.”

                Kurapika was quiet. “I’ve decided to play him at his own game.” He looked down at his mug, not making eye contact.

                Killua sighed. “I suspected you were going to say something like that.”

                “Does that mean you’re not going to turn him in?” Gon practically shouted.

                Kurapika looked up now. “Yes Gon. I am not going to turn him in. And not only that, but I am going to use the situation to my advantage in order to extract maximum revenge for my past.”

                Leorio slammed his hands down on the table. “I know I just said I’d support you, but I take it back! You’re crazy, Kurapika! The guy is a drug lord! A criminal! He’s already tried to kill you, for all we know! _Think about what you’re saying!”_

Kurapika sighed. “I _know_ , Leorio. I knew that he was dangerous when I got involved with him before…when I thought I was having fun. I was willing to risk it because I was enjoying it. But now? Now my life feels less important. It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with the laws myself, you know. And now that I have this knowledge I feel like I have the upper hand. To really….to really make it _personal._ ” His hand had gripped so tight around his coffee mug he thought it might shatter.

The others were silent, so he continued.

“It’s not like I don’t know how to defend myself, if it came to that. But it doesn’t feel right to go to the police. This feels…it feels different. Besides, it’s not like I have any hard evidence even if I did.”

Leorio sat back in his chair. He knew Kurapika was right. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Yeah, well. Just be safe, kid.”

Kurapika cocked an eyebrow at this. “I’m hardly younger than you, Leorio.”

Gon, immediately sensing where this familiar fight was headed, jumped up asking anyone if they needed any more coffee, and the matter was settled.

 

* * *

 

 

 

                It had been five days since he had been in contact with Kuroro. Five days to really collect himself, trust himself that he wanted to do this. That he was doing the right thing. Enough time to sleep in the violence of his nightmares; nightmares full of strange anger, lust, blood, sweat and body parts in that he couldn’t tell which emotions were real and which were hallucinations.

                He only felt blind rage when he thought of Kuroro now. The lust he had felt driven away by the piercing red-hot of anger like an iron on his heart. But Kurapika was smart, and his intuition had spoken.

                His intuition knew that Kuroro had started to crave him. That the sick twisted dance inside Kuroro’s head had spawned something beyond his own control. He had suspected the plan to kill him inside that vault- and looking back, it seemed more than perfectly obvious.

                But he _didn’t._

Why not?

                Because some part of him wanted to keep Kurapika alive. Some part of him enjoyed the chase more than he enjoyed the release. And this was precisely the part of him that Kurapika was going to capture and tame. To twist and use for his _own_ sick pleasure.

                He knew that he had to become a monster to _overcome_ a monster.

                He was going to beat Kuroro at his own game.

               His hand involuntarily rose to his neck, bruises long since faded but memories still fresh of pale hands and long fingers gripping the flesh there, uttering words full of sin and darkness and desire, maneuvering him like a puppet under his spell. Hands to which he had willingly given over his body, relinquished control like he hadn't realized yet that it hadn't been his to give. That he had  _never_ been in control. 

               He was now. 

              _To: Kuroro_

_"I think I'm ready to see you again. So how about it? Warehouse?"_


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is darkness but the absence of your light? If I can't see the truth of the flame, how can I extinguish it? How can I...feed it?

                Kuroro sat on the stool belonging to a beautiful black Steinway, the pride and joy of his penthouse suite. It glittered and shone in the chrome track lighting hung delicately from the high beams, magnificent in its opulence. Each note springing from his long, delicate fingers sparkled around him, hanging in the air like a pleasant scent, bending and waning to his every whim. He was master in his world, master at the Warehouse, master of his troupe; but here, _here_ , he was truly home.

                He was the director and his fingers were the players, producing a symphony of elegance, of emotion and frustration, of desire and death. Five days, it had been. Five days since a word breathed from his blonde prey.

                He could easily have had his cronies track Kurapika down. He could have done so from the start, but he had chosen not to. He had wanted this to be _his fight._ He had wanted Kurapika to play of his own accord. He wondered now if it was too late. If he was going to have to… _lose._ If he was going to have to set his men on Kurapika like some unworthy side job not worth a second thought beyond confirmation of its completion.

                The notes struck a minor tone, swelling towards climax. Loud and heavy they battered around Kuroro’s mind, each strike of his fingers as a strike on his heart, groping at the flesh, exposing the darkness within. 

                No. Kurapika was more than that. The fruit had been ripening and Kuroro was savoring the squeeze. Oh, how he wanted to enjoy that juice. He knew how it tasted now, and he wanted every last drop of it.

                The notes turned gentle, quiet. The song was ending. The harmonic relief washed over Kuroro, every hair on his body shivering in response, causing his flesh to erupt in goosebumps. _Oh, if only he could make Kurapika shiver that way. To see him come so undone, so gloriously exposed._

                He had had him once. He had made him shiver and beg beneath him. But it wasn’t enough. Kurapika had only submitted with his body. He wanted him to submit with his _mind._

 He had felt resistance from the blonde. He was going to have to be more careful about what he revealed; or rather, what he _didn’t_ reveal. If the blonde started suspecting he had ulterior motives, his reluctance would only grow. He was going to have to trust more if he wanted to gain any trust in return.

                He had decided that if Kurapika returned to him, he was going to release a little more of himself into their exchanges. Allow the man to see just enough of him that he felt comfortable enough to let go in his presence. He wanted to see the love in Kurapika’s eyes, the full effects of his betrayal as he drained the life from them.

                That was the only exchange that felt fair. The only price that felt valuable enough for the life of his comrade. Kurapika’s life alone wasn’t enough. He needed his _love._

                Nobody took from Kuroro. He loved every member of his troupe like they were his family. Nobody took that from him. No one on earth would stand between him and them without paying a price beyond mere mortality. A price higher than life itself. The price of betrayal. The price of heartbreak.

                His troupe were the only ones who had stood beside him. Who he could trust. He had built a life for himself with their hands as the brick and mortar. And Kurapika’s family had torn that down with a mere bang of the gavel.

                Kuroro knew that he was up against a tough match. Nobody came up against a member of his troupe and _won-_ nobody that wasn’t worth their salt in the arena. Kurapika was his father’s son. He seemed to have…a _sixth sense_ for the unjust- not that he was against it, necessarily; but rather, that his raw cold intelligence could be a terrifying, skillful opponent when used against him.

                Which made him all the more fun to play with.

                As his fingers stilled on the keys, he felt a vibration in his pocket.

                From: _Kurapika_

_"I think I'm ready to see you again. So how about it? Warehouse?"_

 

                Kuroro smiled, a maniacal glint in his eye as he typed his response.

 

* * *

 

 

                 Kurapika walked up to the building, mind reeling with thoughts of what was ahead, not even noticing the lithe body pressed against the brick wall by the door, hands in its pockets.

                “Not even a hello, blondie?”

                Kurapika was startled. He hadn’t expected Kuroro to be waiting for him outside, for some reason. He had been reaching for the door handle, prepared to head straight to the bar. To find him there, already ordering them drinks.

                But instead, he was outside, waiting for him.

                He drank in Kuroro’s appearance. Tall, toned body, thin but visibly muscular under his white v-neck; dark jeans that probably cost more than Kurapika’s entire outfit, black oxfords shining in the sunlight. Straight dark hair falling about his face, obstructing a clear view of his eyes; turquoise earring glinting from behind the strands.

                He immediately felt his resolve both simultaneously strengthen and crumble as he felt the red-hot poker of anger stab at his heart. How could this be the same man from the article? How could this be the same man that _murdered his family in cold blood?_

And yet….it was. He knew it was.

He wondered if he could keep it together. He wondered if he could stop himself from attacking the man, smashing his gorgeous features in with a swipe of his fist.  

                He was trembling.

                He had to calm himself. He had to let Kuroro believe he still wanted him. That he would _give in_ to him. How could he bare himself to the man who had robbed him of his family?

                Kuroro was in front of him now, demeanor gentle. He could sense something writhing in Kurapika’s soul. He could see the man trembling, his face flushed beneath his blonde locks, interpreting the flush for something else. Kuroro trusted himself. He knew he could soothe it, whatever it was. He knew he could coax Kurapika into submission like a caged animal.

                Kurapika stood, anger still coursing through him like wildfire. He felt Kuroro’s gentle touch, felt his face being cupped and tipped upwards to meet Kuroro’s gaze. “Let me in, blondie,” Kuroro breathed, pressing his forehead against the smaller man’s.

                Kurapika allowed himself the moment to collect his thoughts, taking several deep breaths, smelling nothing but Kuroro’s shampoo. It both infuriated and incited him. _He could do this._

“I…” he stammered, capitalizing on his trembling body, hoping Kuroro would interpret it as romantic desire. “Kuroro…what am I to you?” He spoke the words into the silence between them, letting them hang as delicately as his breath frozen in his chest.

                Kuroro stepped back to peer at him. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

                Kurapika played on this opportunity, looking shyly at the ground, purposefully refusing to answer.

                “I see.” Simultaneously, they both thought: _Good. I can use this._

                Kuroro stepped closer to the blonde again, cupping his chin and lifting his head. “You mean exactly as much to me as you _want_ to mean. Tell me, and I’ll meet you there.”

                Kurapika felt confused, trying to process the words. Was Kuroro asking _him_ to confess his feelings?

                He tried to muster the words. _I hate you. I want you dead._ “I…I like you.” His cheeks colored at the effort of the lie. “I think I want…more.”

                Kuroro smiled. “I don’t think I want to go to Warehouse after all. Yes, that wouldn’t be right at all. Let’s go out for a meal, shall we? My treat. Consider it a…date.”

                The air suddenly felt awkward between them. Kurapika knew that had he heard those words a week ago, his heart would have been fluttering for different reasons. As it were, he felt the murderous intent coursing through him, threatening to vomit out of him should he speak a wrong word. Who _was_ this wolf in a lamb’s clothes? How could he stand there, pretending to be so… _human?_

He forced a smile instead, using the moment to his advantage. “I’d like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kuroro hailed a cab, and within the hour, they were seated in one of the finest restaurants in the district. Kurapika didn’t even bother asking how he got the table at such short notice. He figured he already knew.

Two glasses of red wine appeared. Kurapika sighed, sitting rigid in his chair, feeling every bit aware of his senses even within the warm ambiance of the restaurant. He forced himself to sip the wine. He needed to relax.

“You look nice. You dressed up for me.” Kurapika raised his eyes to meet the man who had spoken, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of him, _fully_ , in the soft candlelight.

Kuroro was a handsome man, despite his… _mental shortcomings._

Yes, Kurapika had dressed up. He had worn a white button up tucked into dark jeans, and he knew the outfit made him look particularly nice. His ruby earring dangled from behind his blonde locks, setting off the blue of his eyes.

He swallowed. “I wanted to make a good impression. Lest you had forgotten what I looked like.” He hoped this came across as the joke he had intended it to be. Sometimes, due to his deadpan nature, he fell just short of the mark.

Luckily Kuroro smiled. “I could never forget you,” he chuckled softly.

Kurapika gulped again. The man before him was a master of deception. Completely incapable of human emotions. Clearly, this was all a farce. He didn’t believe a single word dripping from those perfectly formed lips.

“You…have a good memory then, I take it?” Kurapika questioned.

“One of the best around.” Kuroro set down the menu, looking satisfied with himself.

When the waiter came by, Kurapika let Kuroro order for both of them. He knew all of the dishes, of course; he could understand French (though he could not speak it) but he wanted to give the impression of submission wherever he could.

“So Kuroro…you still haven’t told me anything about you. Like your work. What do you do?” He tried to act casual, keeping his voice flat, even as his heart pounded in his chest.

He had a sudden thought. What if he admitted that he had seen Kuroro’s face in a recent article? He would have to see how Kuroro would react, then. It wouldn’t be incriminating himself, as it was a public article; there was no evidence to show his suspicion to the connection of his past. After all, that was something Killua had dug out separately.

“I have to admit something,” he continued, before giving Kuroro the chance to respond, “I saw an article that had your face in it. A rather…incriminating article. I thought I would ask you for the truth myself.”

He peered up at Kuroro, the small flame of the candle casting flickering shadows over his dark features. His eyes were indecipherable.

Kuroro had not been expecting this.

“Oh really?” He smiled. “What did the article say?”

Kurapika had started now. It was too late to turn back.

“It said you were a mob boss and you run a prominent drug ring in this area.”

Silence fell between them, during which their wine glasses were refilled.

Kuroro realized that there was no point hiding the lie. What else could he possibly say?

“It’s true.” More silence. “Does this affect how you think of me?”

Kurapika was actually startled by the question. Did Kuroro _care_ about Kurapika’s opinion of him? Genuinely? Did the man even _have_ real feelings?

“No. I’m relieved that I know the truth, actually. All that sneaking around, avoiding my questions. It was getting…tiring.” Kurapika sighed. It wasn’t far from the truth.

Kuroro leaned forward in his chair, eyes sparkling in the light. “And you’re not afraid to get caught up in the spider webs of a… _criminal_ like me, Kurapika?”

Kurapika felt his heart thudding so loudly in his chest he was sure Kuroro could hear it. Surely he wasn’t going to kill him, right now, here? “Er, no. It’s kind of exciting, actually. I mean, I knew you weren’t exactly the 9-5 type when I met you.”

“I most decidedly am not.” Kuroro seemed satisfied with this answer, as he settled back in his chair, sipping on his wine.

After a brief pause, Kurapika asked his next question.

“Did you ever dream of a different life, Kuroro? Why…why this life? Why do what you do?” He realized that as he spoke the words, he was choking back tears. Was it the wine? The lighting? The… _make believe_ of this beautiful man, sitting before him, who was really a shark out for his blood? Any second, one wrong move, and he would be split in two.

Kuroro looked as if he were actually pondering the question, and surprised himself by giving a genuine answer. “I didn’t always want this life, blondie,” he sighed. “This life is all I have. After my parents…died.”

Kurapika was startled by this admission. Kuroro’s parents? Dead? “I’m sorry…” he choked out, finding the words to be genuine. “What happened? Of course, tell me only what you’re comfortable with.” He looked down, realizing Kuroro had said more about himself in the last half hour than in the entire weeks he had known him.

Kuroro surprised himself again. “My father…was abusive. He hurt my mother. So I killed him.” He paused, as if this was the most natural thing in the world to admit, taking a sip of his wine. “I looked after my mother, but she was sick, frail. She died.” He made eye contact with Kurapika. “I did everything I could for her to make her life comfortable in the end. I used whatever means I could. And I didn’t have many. But what I had was friends, good friends. Friends willing to look out for me. Friends willing to go out of their way for me. And we formed…we formed a team, we worked well together. And I love them as if they were my own family.” He paused again. “And at this point, they are all I have. They _are_ my family.” He actually felt heat behind his words. He felt his own anger bubbling. When he looked in Kurapika’s eyes, all he saw reflected back at him were the eyes of his fallen comrade, Bonolenov. The eyes of a comrade that he was helpless to save. A comrade that he had loved like a brother.

Kurapika felt the heat and his skin prickled in response. He could feel the truth behind Kuroro’s words and that frightened him. Why was Kuroro baring his soul? Did he have…nothing else to lose?

Family? Team? He loved his team…and lost one of them, because of Kurapika’s father?

The realization churned his stomach unexpectedly. Kuroro had just hit him with the brutal force of something Kurapika could not reject. His humanity.

How could someone so cold, so… _calculating,_ love someone so much they were willing to kill for them? Was that why he was out for Kurapika’s blood? It wasn’t so that he could “finish the job”….it was because… _he loved his comrade like he was a brother?_ He wanted _revenge?_  

 Kurapika’s head was spinning. He felt sick. He didn’t know how to process this, and he certainly couldn’t do it sitting down, making eye contact with the man who wanted to kill him in revenge for his father’s actions. He couldn’t excuse that, but part of him, part of him deep inside understood the thirst for revenge, for avenging your family. He _understood why Kuroro wanted to kill him._

“I’m sorry…I have to…” He got up, running to the bathroom, leaving Kuroro with his mouth slightly open, eyebrow cocked.

He thrust open the door, the lights only slightly brighter than those of the restaurant beyond, planting his shoulder and head against the cool brick of the wall. He could feel tears welling in his eyes.

 _This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to actually_ empathize _with the man, the monster._

 He felt a presence behind him as the door thumped open and shut a second time.

He smelled the familiar spicy musk of Kuroro’s cologne. He felt warm hands gripping his shoulders, turning him around, wiping the tears from under his eyes.

“Kurapika. Look at me.” Kurapika did.

“Why are you crying?” Kuroro seemed genuinely caring, his eyes reflecting a warmth Kurapika hadn’t seem in them before.

What could he possibly say? There was nothing, besides the truth, that could justify a reaction of that magnitude. So he did the next best thing.

He leaned up, capturing Kuroro’s lips in a kiss. He wanted a taste- just a taste- of the brief moment of humanity he had felt exuding from his presence. But Gods, it tasted so sweet. It tasted like red wine and cherries, like heat and like spice and like _him._ He pressed his tongue into Kuroro’s accepting mouth, feeling every inch of him, feeling the warmth of his skin grow hotter under his touch.

He felt a soft moan draw from the back of Kuroro’s throat, his body enraptured by the sudden desire elicited from the kiss. “Kurapika…” he moaned softly, pressing his body up against the blonde’s so that he was flat-back against the wall. He looked down into the blonde’s eyes. “You are an enigma.”

Kurapika could only feel, so keenly aware of his senses, of his heightened emotions that he had to _release_ somehow. His hands were clawing at Kuroro’s body, and he attacked with vigor, lips planting on Kuroro’s neck and sucking the skin there in a frenzy. He felt Kuroro shiver in response, felt him starting to lose control of rational thought as all he could think of was the sensations on his body.

“Kurapika”- he grabbed the blonde by both shoulders, pressing him flat against the wall, in order to look square in his eyes. “Not here, not like this. I don’t want to make out with you in the bathroom again. I don’t want…I don’t want your anger, I don’t want your submission. I want _you._ Raw, and tender, like you are now. Will you give yourself to me… like this? Will you let me take you home, and make love to you?”

Kurapika couldn’t think. The tears were still welling in his eyes, but his vision was returning. His body was calming. He listened to Kuroro’s words and realized… _he wanted that more than anything._

He wanted to feel the man who was the monster from the inside. He wanted to give himself to him, fully, to be with him, to _understand_ him even if it was just for the time they were joined together. After all, if Kuroro was a monster, what did that make _him?_

“Yes,” he breathed, face now enmeshed with the face of the other man, tears from his eyes trailing down both their cheeks. “Please take me home, Kuroro. I'll give myself to you. I'll give you everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this chapter had feels, and I felt them all. I feel really shaky after writing it for some reason.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To heal, you must accept.  
> Denial is the darkness that swallows us whole.

Kurapika stood outside the restaurant, his eyes adjusting to the lingering twilight. The air was buzzing again, or maybe it was the inside of his head. Either way, he knew he needed to take some deep breaths, to breathe out the emotions that threatened to leak out of him if he accidentally moved too fast and cracked open.

_Breathe in_

_Maybe he can be trusted._

_Breathe out_

_But it is because of him my family is dead._

_Breathe in_

_Deep down, we are all human. Can I find it in myself to accept that?_

_Breathe out_

_It is no excuse for murder._

_Breathe in_

_But that is what your father advocated._

_Breathe out_

_I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know._

He stood, trembling, not aware of how much time was passing; he knew Kuroro was sorting the tab, the food they had ordered which never made it to their stomachs. The rolling clouds and stormy blue sky reflected against the bluish-grey of his eyes, the turmoil matched within. He felt unpredictable, like an animal coiled in the tall grass, preparing to strike. But what was his prey? Was it still Kuroro? He didn’t know.

Accepting Kuroro inside of himself meant accepting that he could allow good and evil to coexist together in the world without assigning meaning to them beyond what they are. He understood this concept rationally. He understood it was possible. Could he…could he do it, though? If he opened himself to the connection between them, he was also opening himself to the pain. Kuroro’s pain.

It was going to hurt.

It already hurt.

He was so used to his own pain, his own turmoil, his own ideas of revenge, of avenging what he had felt had been taken from _him,_ that he had been blinded to the pain of others.

And now that wall was coming down.

He had empathy, of course. For his friends. For those he considered himself to love. But could he extend that to those he held in the darkest shadows of his heart? Was there such a thing as a person who didn’t deserve love? Who didn’t deserve…not to feel pain?

A chesty cough, and Kurapika raised his head. “Lost in thoughts again, blondie?” Kuroro’s lips were drawn in a half-smile, an eyebrow cockily threatening to raise. Kurapika almost, _almost,_ thought he sensed something he might call _nerves_ behind that slight twitch. What was the other man thinking? What was he … feeling?

As the hundreds of possible answers, of possible emotional states flickered through Kurapika’s mind in response, all he could find in himself was a relinquishing of himself to the turmoil, a raising of his eyebrows, half in pain, half in sympathy, both to himself and to Kuroro, an exhale, slight parting of his lips, the breath knocked out of him from forces he couldn’t see.

 Kuroro stepped closer, face to face with the smaller man, and raised his hand to tenderly stroke Kurapika’s cheek. “You are beautiful when you are real.”

In that moment, Kurapika collapsed, pressing his face into Kuroro’s shoulder, feeling strong arms surround his body, wrapping him completely and pressing him closer into his warmth, his smell. It didn’t matter. He was here. For once, could he let himself feel, without asking what it _meant?_ Without drugs, without alcohol, with only the profundity and depth of intimate connection with another, of his soul being seen and accepted?

What could that feel like? What would that taste like?

Before he had the chance to keep thinking, Kuroro lifted his chin, this time, to kiss him, his lips still red and sweet, softer than he remembered, gentle, not hungry, not angry, but just _there,_ to kiss him, to explore him, to accept him, to be with him in the moment, enjoying each other’s taste.

Kurapika felt himself open inside. Felt the door crack. Felt the light spill in, just enough to taste warm, soft like a gentle tongue, slipping in, feeling him, tasting him, filling him from the inside out. Every part of him, every nerve, every follicle, every freckle, every part of him made of Kuroro, felt like Kuroro.

Every sense he had was overwhelmed, had surrendered completely. Had joined with the man in front of him, had become one with him, had no sense of separateness, they were one. They were one and the same. The same pain, the same anger, the same insides, the same desires, the same doors, the same walls, the same defenses, the same pathways to the other, had somehow lit the way in the darkness and found each other standing there.

He felt his body wobble, he felt Kuroro’s hands support his back, strong, pressing, if Kuroro let go, he would fall, fall into nothing, fall inside himself and back into the abyss of pain. He clung to the hands, the tongue, the soft lips; it was light, it was earth, it was _here,_ it was now, it was serendipitous; his entire life had lead him here. Here was where he was, and where he belonged.

Gravel crunched loudly in his ears, louder than it should- the sensory overwhelm strong within him- and he realized somewhere in his consciousness a taxi cab had pulled up to the front of the restaurant. He swam back into reality, his ears ringing, his heart pounding, his breath coming harder, every breath on purpose, a struggle, heavy in his chest.

As he climbed into the stuffy leather-scented taxi air through the open door Kuroro was holding, he told himself. He told himself it was okay, okay to let go, to be here, to flow like water into the world and be one with himself, and in doing so, one with another.

To let himself see, and be seen. As he was. And taken.

Excitement fluttered in his stomach, tender and warm, different than the fire of cocaine, the warmth of whiskey, the artificial sex of bathroom lights and anger and pain and repressed rage and selfish desires. It felt like fear, but it felt like excitement too.

And Kuroro looked at him from the front seat- as if checking on him- as if making sure he stayed here, in the moment- and in that moment Kurapika’s entire body flushed and every hair stood on end. He felt a coiling, a building of energy inside of himself, that he knew would release when he felt Kuroro’s hands on him, running over his body, feeling him and taking him and being one with him. Together, they could cast aside the pain, create light instead, and bathe in it together, in each other’s skin, in each other’s darkness, and heal, heal themselves from the inside.

Kurapika swallowed, finding the air suddenly gone from the inside of the cab.

All he had to do was remember to breathe. Not long now. It was only 10 minutes till Kuroro’s apartment.

Not long now.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika is breaking down his walls. It hurts. I want him to find happiness, but he can't find it in anyone else. He has to be led to the light within himself, which means he was finally ready to accept it. He doesn't have to be alone in there, in the dark, in his pain. Just maybe, he doesn't have to be alone.
> 
> Next chapter will be Kuroro POV.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throw me your beads and I will wear them, give me your colors and I will bare my soul for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****INTERLUDE****  
> I wrote a Killugon chapter. I really, really couldn't help it. It...took me.  
> The chapter I promised is still coming. I, uh, promise. :)
> 
> Also warning there is a woman involved, for those who might not like their Killugon to be ..impure?

The girl between them moaned. She was definitely not here, not on earth. Where was she? Killua didn’t know, he didn’t care, he was there himself. Reality was dark, sparkly, full of chunks of glitter and pearl colored sequins, but it was also flashing on and off like a strobe light.

Her skin was pale, soft. Her breasts were large and full, his hands trailed down her chest, fingers trailing over her skin, grazing her nipples, her eyes were closed.            

He felt himself course in and out of her, soft, warm, but hard and full of ache. The ecstasy filled him, filled her, and filled the third member of their group. Tanned skin, dark hair, honey colored eyes, pupils dilated beyond rational recourse in the amount of light in the room, a pale hand wrapped around him, delivering pleasure, his eyes closed, lips open in a fixed moan.

How had they ended up here? The drugs, the music, the lights, the alcohol. Three tabs. Who was she? A human, with a soul, a body, a mind, Killua occupied one of the three; he felt himself a part of her, but his eyes were trailing, wandering, upwards. They lingered on tan skin, instead of pale, watched the soft lips spread, a pink tongue wetting bottom lip, the pleasure on his friend’s face driving him harder inside of the woman beneath him, feeling her gripping him, taking him inside her, one with the pleasure as both receiver and giver.

He saw Gon’s eyelids flutter. Saw them open slightly. Half lidded. Eye contact. His body flushed, he felt the woman moan beneath him, each pulse growing deeper within him, her speed on Gon’s body increasing, he couldn’t stop himself, he wanted to be connected to that, he wanted to taste it.

And even as they stood, and kneeled, from several feet apart, they joined together, faces meeting over the body of the women, lips touching, soft, connected, one with the other’s, opening together, tongues in sync, exploring, desiring, feeling each pulse of Killua’s body ripple through them, delivering pleasure beyond reason from the mere excitement of the situation.

Killua was tasting him. He was feeling Gon’s tongue inside of him even as he felt himself inside the body of another. It was too much. He knew he wouldn’t last.

When he felt strong hands, rough, calloused hands, reach up and grip his head, coursing through his hair, awkward, not gentle, aggressive, pulling him closer, he stumbled in his rhythm, gave no resistance, met the hungry lips with wanton desire of his own. Was that teeth? He couldn’t control himself anymore. There were hands on his body, pairs of hands, too many hands, whose hands he didn’t know, his own hands reaching, wanting more of the taste, wanting to feel the pleasure of the insides, of the sweat and the flesh and the heat around him, the bodies before him, one familiar, one less so.

Killua could feel himself reaching climax. The pulse of Gon’s tongue in his mouth was matching his own rhythm now, it felt inescapably sensual, as real to him as the warmth of himself coursing in and out of the body below, pleasure coming from all directions, his body lost to the fire.

He felt the pleasurable waves coming from within, the all consuming warmth, unable to discern the touch of the ecstasy, the touch of the woman, the touch of his friend, all hands within him, on him, the pumping grew faster, more erratic, the moans escaping strangled through the gaps in the teeth, through the breaks in the lips, a thrust of his hips, two more, Gon’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip, it _hurt,_ he was going to-

His eyes closed, the pleasure releasing, lips parted in an expression of pure bliss, even as they were spread, he felt Gon kissing his orgasm out of him, pressing his lips to his open mouth, tasting the sound of him as he came.  

He opened his eyes to the closeness of amber ones, eager, excited, happy, enjoying Killua’s orgasm as much as he did, knowing his own was reaching its arrival.

He slowly pulled himself out of the woman, who used this opportunity to pull herself up, flip over, and push Gon backwards onto the bed, climbing on top of him.

Killua could do nothing but watch as she slowly rode him, Gon’s and his eyes staying connected, even as she moved her hips sensually back and forth, seeking her own climax, Gon’s hands wandering up her body, eyes fixed on Killua’s.

What should he do? Does he stay there?

He found himself as hard as he had been previously, feeling Gon’s pleasure as if it were his own, his hand now wrapped around himself, steel blue eyes fixed on honey, the air sparkling, crackling, the women’s soft moans filling the air around them, was this real? Gon’s eyes were rolling back now, thick hands gripping soft thighs, the object of the woman’s desire, Killua wanted to help, he wanted back in, he wanted to imagine what it felt like to have Gon inside of him like that- how different could it feel? What kind of pleasure could it bring?

His hand milking himself, not sure he would reach a second climax, not sure he cared, only partaking in the moment, partaking in the pleasure of the room, the sounds, the smells, the sensuality oozing from their pores.

The women shuddered, releasing a soft low moan, and with rapt attention, Killua watched Gon allow himself to finally release, his eyes squeezing shut, mouth dropping open, brows furrowing in an expression of pleasure.

It was the sexiest thing Killua had ever seen.

He never wanted to go back to reality. It was better here in the buttoned down sequined glitter fantasy they were wearing. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could keep it on. Not have to face his desires. And the reality they were going to present.

And yet, maybe he could. Because it had happened. Maybe it could happen again.

“I sure could go for another drink.” Gon smiled, tossing Killua his shirt, the woman tugging her dress back down over her body, they were neon pillars in the darkness, they were rave-colored techno flowers. They would go back, they would drink more, spill their Saturday into the world, live in it until it died.

He could face reality tomorrow.  

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For what is a wolf but a sheep that has grown teeth to tear, claws to take and eyes to see? The sheep knows not to feel fear at the sight of the wolf.

He couldn’t hide the smile that crept up his lips.

Was it really going to be this easy?

Kurapika had believed every word that dripped from the corners of his dark mouth, every flash of emotion from his dark eyes.

And now he was sitting in the back seat of the cab, fluttering like a baby bird, exposed, raw, vulnerable- and _his._

Mind, body, and soul.

\---

Kuroro exited the cab quicker than any human should be capable of in order to hold the door open for Kurapika. The blonde climbed out, shivering as Kuroro’s hand brushed over the tender skin of his forearm. As the cab zoomed off, he stood there, body quaking though the temperature for once did not call for it. He clutched his arms together, looking downwards; Kuroro could feel the palpable aversion to _actual eye contact_ with him.

 “Kurapika.” The name sounded heavy in the air. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

Silence.

“I…I want this.” He was still looking down. “I’m just…afraid. It feels different.”

Kuroro fought back the temptation to smile. He didn’t have to ask Kurapika what his outburst at the restaurant was about, though surely Kurapika was wondering if he was ever going to. He didn’t have to. _He knew._ Somehow, he knew Kurapika knew he knew, as well. That’s what made it all the more delicious. Even knowing everything- knowing about his father- Kurapika was a sharp kid, after all, surely he put all the pieces together- he still had him. Here. At his apartment. This time, he had him ready to surrender with his entire body, and his entire mind.

“What are you afraid of, Kurapika?”

Kurapika looked at him then.

“Of getting hurt.”

Ah, so there was some small piece of him left inside that was crying out. Telling him to be careful, not to trust him. But was it because it was _him-_ Kuroro- or would that voice cry out no matter who Kurapika was standing with? Was it an innate inability to trust completely- due to the trauma of his past, rather than a personal affront? Kuroro thought so. So he smiled again.

“And that is what makes you human.” He took Kurapika’s hand. It was trembling. Kurapika almost looked like he was about to cry. He pulled Kurapika closer, grabbing the other hand as well, so that the two men were face to face. “I am not a perfect man, Kurapika. But I can promise you this. If you give me your heart, I will protect it.” Kurapika couldn’t find it in himself to break the eye contact. His eyes were eager, drinking in the words; he wanted to believe, he wanted to swallow them whole and feel them cradle him from the inside.

Before he had a chance to respond, Kuroro had started gently leading him towards the apartment.

Kuroro was getting excited now. That look in Kurapika’s eyes had sparked something inside of him that he could not ignore. That bright-eyed, unfettered look of pure submission, of pure adoration, of willingness to _trust_ , to believe, to see Kuroro exactly as _he wanted to be seen._ Oh, he loved that look. He could feel a heat bloom in his groin and his slacks getting tighter as he tried not to groan even now, thinking about it, mere seconds after the fact. He had to turn away so that Kurapika could not see what it had done to him. _Calm down, Kuroro. You haven’t closed it yet. There’s more coming._

By the time they reached the door, Kuroro had tamed himself.

He turned to the other man. Kurapika stood there, all blonde sweaty locks, face flustered with a mix of physical exertion and emotion, the blush illuminating the pale freckles dotting his nose in stark contrast. Kuroro could smell his deodorant, and his shampoo. Every fiber of his body started screaming about him. Soon he wasn’t going to be able to think at all. How could he stand there being so- so- _fucking sexy-_ and more importantly- _his?_

That’s right. For Kuroro was only going to be happy when he owned Kurapika. No, he didn’t care about Kurapika’s feelings. Not at all. He only cared about getting what he wanted.

And that, that made it all the sweeter for him. The way Kurapika was now could not have been painted any prettier in his mind.

Visions of fucking him- of pressing his body against the wall, of tearing down his pants and _having_ him right there- flittered past his mind in small bursts, making it harder to focus than he’d like to admit. He knew that wasn’t what Kurapika wanted. What he expected. No, he had to be tender. He had to be _kind._ He was standing there docile, like a baby deer, ready to flee at any moment.

He couldn’t keep dragging the moment. This was not the time for talking. He had to act.

He continued to guide the blonde, further into the apartment, until they reached the bedroom. Kurapika followed without a word. The sounds of their panting resonated throughout the silent room. Kuroro gently pressed Kurapika down, until he was sat on the bed. As if receiving unspoken mental instruction, he scooched his butt backwards until he was sitting pressed up against the pillows, legs stretched straight. He was so open in that moment that Kuroro could have screamed.

_He had to restrain himself._

He climbed onto the bed, and seated himself next to Kurapika so that they were side by side. He allowed a moment to pass, giving Kurapika a chance to collect his thoughts and relax himself.

 He spoke no more words. Instead, he turned to face the other man, and in the moment his head turned to accept the eye contact, his lips pressed forward. _“You are mine now.”_ It echoed in Kuroro’s head. He knew he could be tender. He knew he could be the perfect lover. And afterwards, Kurapika would tell him he loved him. And then? Well. The rest would be history.

\---

_My heart won't stop fluttering. Has it always beat this fast? Kuroro’s lips taste so sweet, they always taste so sweet, but they taste like red wine, and they’re so soft- oh, his hands, bigger than I remember…I love the way they press into me….I guess he is going to get on top of me now, oh, he’s heavy, this is terrifying, I don’t remember it being this scary, is this how I’ve always felt? My heart is going to beat out of my chest, oh, his tongue….oh, its soft, and warm, god, that hand feels good there, I like it when his hair tickles my face when he’s on top of me, even if I feel like I can’t breathe…._

AH _, my neck! He knows my neck is sensitive, that’s why he’s kissing it, so he can pull my pants down as if I won’t notice but I do notice, I don’t mind, I want them off, I’ll help him…_

 _Oh god, his hand, under my briefs, he’s feeling me, I’m so hard, I can’t think, his tongue, his hand, it’s too much, I already feel good, he can’t use that much pressure, he’s going to have to stop…Maybe if I push him off for a minute, and kiss_ his _neck, I can catch my breath, let me just flip us around, I can get on top._

_God, he is sexy. His eyes. So dark, so piercing. I could sit here and look at him until I die. I don’t even have to- oh, he’s kissing me, didn’t expect that, I like it when he sits up like this while I straddle him, oh god, it feels good when we rub together, he’s hard, so hard, I can feel it…_

_His hands are gentle, so gentle, more gentle than I remember, I don’t remember him being so soft and yet so hard at the same time, has he always made those noises?_ How did I get on my back again? _Oh god, my briefs are gone… oh, he’s kissing my stomach, it tickles, and now he’s, ah, his lips, they are wet….so wet…feels…good…can’t stop…that dark hair, soft, handfuls, soft…what is he…oh god…he’s kissing me_ there _…I can’t let him, oh god! Ah… ah…_

_The world is spinning, I think I just blacked out from the pleasure, I have to have him, maybe if I grab his hair, and pull him up, there…tell him, tell him you need him, tell him you want him inside of you…._

_That look, that’s the look, the look when he hears it, when he’s ready to take me, I want it, I’m ready too, his face in my neck is everything, that pressure, slow, doesn’t hurt, feels…good…_

_He’s inside me, he’s looking at me, he’s kissing me, ah, yes, the tongue, his presence in my body…I’ve accepted them both, I want him to move, I’ll move my hips, okay, he’s taken the hint, I much prefer_ his _rhythm … oh god, he’s looking at me while he moves, his eyes, I cant look, it’s too much, it’s like he’s inside my soul, his eyes are so beautiful, his hair is hanging down, I can’t believe this is real, it feels too good, its too much, I’ve never felt so connected…if he keeps looking at me, I’m going to come, and it’ll be too fast, I want to enjoy this.._

_His skin is so smooth, the way my hands feel on him, pulling him deeper, he’s coming in faster now, I can feel it, he’s starting to lose control, keeps coming in to kiss me, his tongue in rhythm with his thrusts, I could lose myself in this…lose myself in him…his skin, his smell, his hair…_

_I’ll go in for a kiss like this, there on his neck, just behind his hair…oh_ god, _he liked that, ah,_ harder, harder now, _he’s losing it, kiss him again, oh god that noise, I live for that moan, make him do it again, oh god, he’s going to come soon, I can feel it in his thrusts, oh god, he’s kissing me, I can’t breathe, his tongue is in my mouth and I can feel him coming inside me…_

_Oh god, I’m going to lose it._

\---

The two men laid, one dark haired on top of blonde, exhausted and heavy for a few minutes, eyes bright and connected, before the dark haired one rolled off and let himself sink into the cloud of duvet.

The air hung between them, sticky and warm. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had. Kuroro knew what he had done.

It wasn’t going to be long now.

He would hear it.

He was living for that moment.

He wanted to hear Kurapika say that he loved him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clear as a bell, the truth resounds.  
> It echoes across the walls  
> my eyes are filled with its sound.

Kurapika sat there, the expectations of the moment heavy in his heart.

He felt…he felt that Kuroro wanted him to tell him he loved him. How did he know that? He didn’t know. But why…why couldn’t he say it? His body, melted, felt like warm butter on the bed. His heart, still beating like a baby bird. And yet…his mind, it wouldn’t cooperate. It wouldn’t let him say those words.

Why not?

Kuroro was looking at him, his smile gentle, and _warm._ Like he was waiting.

Kurapika wished he would stop.

He was feeling too hot again. That same too-hot feeling he got when he knew he had overdone it with the drugs. When he knew it was time to pull back. When every fiber of him was screaming at him that _something wasn’t right._

He looked away from Kuroro, and found himself scrambling off the bed, reaching for his clothes.

“What’s wrong, Kurapika?” Kuroro looked genuinely surprised.

“Hot,” he muttered, heading to the bathroom to collect his thoughts.

Kurapika stepped into the dimly lit bathroom, feeling the cold tile beneath his feet sharpening his senses and bringing him back to reality. He placed both hands on either side of the sink, feeling the smooth slickness of the black marble. He looked at himself in the mirror. His thoughts were spinning.

 _How did I even end up back here. What was I thinking? It’s like he weaves a fucking…web, in my mind. And I can’t disentangle myself, until I snap out of it. This man. The man that killed your parents. No…not him, directly. But his ‘gang’? Kurapika,_ what are you doing? _This isn’t you! Get a grip on yourself! The world…the world doesn’t work like this. You don’t get to just_ fuck _your way out of situations that demand justice. Are you going to forgive him that easily?_ Are you?

His cheeks were glowing red and there was sweat forming on his upper lip. He could feel himself losing his own composure. How could he have let himself be played this way? This isn’t who he is. Kuroro made him feel, made him feel like someone else. What was it about him? It was like mind games that he couldn’t even see. Like he lost himself when he was in his presence.

He found himself reaching for his pocket. Curling his hands around a familiar object that stayed nestled there. His pocket knife. Combined with his quick reflexes and martial arts training, Kurapika had never been beaten in a fight in his life, though he had never been in many that weren’t pre-meditated or sparring in training. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he was certain in his heart that he was not going to regret it.

Slowly standing up straight, he squeezed his eyes shut, palm gripping the knife as tightly as he had gripped Kuroro’s skin.

He opened the bathroom door.

 

\---

He stood there, eyes glinting maniacally in the low light of the bedroom.

Kuroro froze at his image. “…Kurapika?”

“You thought it was going to be this easy?” He spoke quietly.

“Easy?”

Kurapika stood in silence, letting Kuroro’s feigned ignorance wash over him.

He took a step closer.

He thought he saw something play over Kuroro’s eyes. A microexpression, a flash and then gone.

“You sure are charming, Kuroro. How is it that you essentially confess to murdering my father, and yet, bring me back to your bed?”

“Murdering your father? I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.” Kuroro hadn’t moved from his position on the bed, his expression unmoving.

“Oh, you don’t? What was all that about, ‘ _my comrades are the only family I’ve ever known?’_ I’m betting it’s no surprise to you I know exactly why you got so ruffled in the restaurant talking about that. Is it?”

The corners of Kuroro’s lips were starting to form into a smile. He hadn’t been expecting this. But seeing Kurapika this way, well, he couldn’t help but get excited.

“Please do enlighten me Kurapika.”

Kurapika stepped even closer. The artwork hanging above his head reflected off his eyes. They were glowing scarlet.

“You killed my parents.”  

The world seemed to spin around them for a moment, before temporarily freezing. Kuroro didn’t bother denying it. He eyed Kurapika’s hand, gripping in its pocket, contemplating how long he had to reach over and grab the revolver he kept in the dresser drawer. He could fight with his hands if he had to, but he’d rather not.

“My Kurapika, you do surprise me.” The words dripped from his tongue.

“Shut up! I’m sick of your lies! Everything about you is a lie! Who are you anyway? Have you ever spoken one word to me that was real?”

Kuroro’s eyes flickered towards the dresser. In less than ten seconds, Kurapika had closed the distance between them, grabbing Kuroro’s outstretched hand, binding both arms above his head and had his knife blade pointed directly at Kuroro’s throat.

A lifetime of martial arts training was not going to be beaten by a gun.

Kurapika pressed one of his knees into Kuroro’s chest, infuriated by his passive lack of resistance. It was almost as if…he was laughing inside.  

“ _Tell me! Why did you do this! What did you want from me!”_

A droplet of blood trickled down Kurapika’s blade as Kuroro’s body started shaking from the laughter rising out of him.

Kurapika could only stare incredulously. _Laughing? Is he insane?_

“I was right about you, Kurapika. You are beautiful. Look at you. You’ve won. You’ve beaten me. Are you going to kill me?”

Kurapika was so angry his vision started fading. How could he be laughing? Was this real? He was talking about his parents' lives! He was talking about mind games, about lies, about deception. About the fucking web surrounding this man, and the spider himself who was finally caught out. And all he was going to do is… _laugh!?_

He had been preparing for years to hunt the man who killed his parents. But was he prepared to take a life? What he wanted was _justice._

It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right to murder him in cold blood. But it didn’t feel right to let him live. What was he supposed to do?

“I don’t want you to die. I want you to _pay.”_ He almost spat the words out, glaring into Kuroro’s deep, dark eyes.

 “And I suppose you believe yourself the one who is going to dole out this punishment?”  


Kurapika pressed his knee in deeper, squeezing the air out of Kuroro’s lungs. “You don’t get to talk when you’re the one who’s captured.” He stared downwards. Kuroro didn’t listen, continued speaking anyway. “You don’t have a plan, do you? Didn’t expect to find yourself here, did you?”

He was right, and Kurapika hated it. He wasn’t a murderer, not in cold blood. Not of a defenseless man. And yet, if he let him go, he’d reach for what Kurapika was certain was a gun. But not if…not if _he_ could reach the gun first.

Another ten seconds. Another flash, and Kurapika had whipped himself off of Kuroro, opened the nightstand, and removed the revolver. He put it in his pocket. Kuroro only sat on the bed, not struggling, not resisting. Just watching.

“Good move, Kurapika.”

Kurapika’s breath was loud and heavy. His anger was still palpable. But he knew he wasn’t going to kill this man. Not if he wasn’t going to fight.

“So….not going to kill me?”

Kurapika stared at him. “I don’t murder in cold blood. I’m not like you.”

Kuroro smiled. “Oh, I can assure you your parents were not murdered in _cold blood._ They put up quite a fight, from what I heard. Impressive, really.”

Kurapika’s pupils dilated instantly.

He lunged at Kuroro, not even thinking about the gun, knife or any weapon. He wanted to strangle him with his bare hands. But this time, with slightly more distance between them, Kuroro was prepared. He had decided to play along. He moved out of the way, sticking out a foot to trip Kurapika’s footing as he lunged; but Kurapika was quick on his feet, and not so easily tricked. He dodged the foot, spinning back around with precision to land a knife hand strike directly against Kuroro’s neck, hitting his windpipe, simultaneously ramming an elbow into his ribcage. Kuroro felt the air leave his chest, but still resisted, feigning a fall to his knees but rolling forward instead to dodge Kurapika’s incoming blows. Kurapika turned, eyes wide, crazy yet composed.

Kuroro was already back on his feet by the time he had closed the distance between them again. Kuroro was still struggling to breathe after the hit to the windpipe, but he refused to let Kurapika see it. He was intent on retrieving the gun in Kurapika’s pocket. Kurapika’s fist was heading for him, directly at his solar plexus, but he was quick and skilled enough to at least block the incoming blows. _Damn, this kid is quick!_

Kurapika knew Kuroro was struggling to breathe. After that hit, _any_ human would be. He also knew Kuroro was thinking about retrieving the gun.

Kurapika was going to knock him out.

 He feigned a pause in his strikes, which Kuroro used to lunge forward, and in that instant Kurapika grabbed his left shoulder, snaked his arm across his chest and flipped his entire body over him facefirst onto the bed. He then executed a perfect strike directly to the back of Kuroro’s head, with just enough pressure to bounce his skull forward and shunt him into unconsciousness.

Kurapika knew he would be out for a while.

 _If_ he came back around.

\---

Kuroro came to and found himself unable to move. He was bound, tied to a kitchen chair, with a gag tied over his mouth. Kurapika was standing nearby.

“So, not dead after all.”

Kuroro blinked, his field of vision having to fight to remain stable. Those blows were tough to recover from.

What was this kid going to do?

 

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I was going to write fluff about feelings and nice things, and instead it's more fucked up-ness and angst. Why can't my characters just be happy, dangit? Is it me? I think it's me.


End file.
